


Rain Is for Rainbows, Not Because the Gods Are Crying

by keylimefloat



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Existential Crisis, Found Family, Immortality, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Unspecified Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keylimefloat/pseuds/keylimefloat
Summary: God Yangyang, long having lost hope of rising to glory and celebration once again, now resorts to mingling in the streets, masked as a commoner. A few minutes spent at a nearby school festival is all it takes for him to register as a student, coming face to face with the first mortal he has interacted with for more than a century, Huang Renjun.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Liu Yang Yang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	Rain Is for Rainbows, Not Because the Gods Are Crying

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #00390: Person A is an ancient deity, he was famous and glorified in his age, but now he walks with all the commoners trying to find a spark of hope, of someone that will believe in him again and will help him recover his glory, that's when Person B appears, a stressed and tired student that just wants to graduate, who's also his roommate/classmate.
> 
> a/n: vaguely set in modern-day China

The stone at the top of the hill rolls down, weaving sloppily yet safely through the crowds, its journey not stopping even when it starts to skid against the flattening surface. Not one second passes by without someone being millimeters away from tripping over it, an odd occurrence with how packed the street is tonight.

A whistle has Yangyang turning his head, and his eyes light up at the sight of the stringed lights, a stall of bright red _tanghulu_ calling to him. Immediately, he turns back to the stone and commands it to roll into the grass, then takes in a deep breath before he pushes through the pack, not wanting to accidentally harm someone in the process.

His attempts to squeeze to the front are prevailed by the overwhelming audience in front of the _tanghulu_ stand, but he embraces it by letting the constant pushing bring him to the front. He pulls the cap lower so his eyes are hidden before dumping a few coins into the palm of someone who is picking out two skewers for him.

As soon as he grabs his order, he slips away, back to tracking down the stone he had been playing with. He walks a few meters into the grass, then looks up to scan his surroundings. With so many people around, his only two options are to find it manually or to bide his time and wait until everyone leaves. But both of those are thrown out the window when a young man happens to pass by and trips.

 _Ah_. Yangyang moves closer and senses the stone, letting the stranger leave first. He reaches his hand out, about to bend down when he hears the male from earlier humming. Humming a tune he has not heard in centuries. The same tune he had created a long time ago, the one that people used to play at any festival.

Yangyang picks the stone up and turns back toward the crowd hurriedly, but the humming has already disappeared. Even with his sharpened senses of hearing, even with the way he tries to block out the ruckus, he can no longer hear it. He takes note of the bolded characters printed on each stall’s chalkboard. An opportunity has come and he is taking it in hopes of turning the tides.

☂︎

“Three. Two? Or maybe one.” Yangyang pulls on his hair and lets out a scream of frustration as he stares at his closet. “Argh, I don’t know. Do I really have to do this?”

Ten snorts. “You were the one who had proclamations of finding your true beloved after centuries of moping around.”

“And you can attempt to regain your glory or whatever you said it was. Won’t hurt to try when no one remembers you anyway,” Kun adds in as he busies himself with chucking a couple of shirts in Yangyang’s direction. “Maybe you should go search it up. Don’t you like to talk about how modern you are and that if teens knew about you they would be thrilled to worship you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Yangyang sinks back into his seat, sulking and nodding along to their words without paying much attention, mind focused on something else instead.

 _Regaining glory_. Right. The only thing he has been longing for. There’s a voice in the back of his head that calls him out on his laziness, that he should have put in more effort as a god instead of waiting for a so-called perfect moment to pull the punches.

But his heart says otherwise. Watching history unravel, observing how mortals repeat the same mistakes time and time again, sometimes when not even twenty-four hours have passed, noting the way they seem to forget just about everything in a split second.

These people are too caught up in their own issues, only making last-minute prayers as if that will make actual amends. So in the end, Yangyang is worshipped for what he can give, not for who he is. Not that most worshippers care about him or anything, since most people turn to the gods out of desperation. Whereas his music used to float around most days, whether the streets were bustling or not, the tunes are now only heard from one person—himself. Even then, he plays them once in a blue moon, knowing it will only dampen his mood.

While Kun and Ten busy themselves with lectures regarding the dangers of mortals, he packs. Attempts to fold his clothes and prays Kun will come around to help out, only to be scolded by the elder. Instead of assisting him, Kun just shakes his head and tells him to redo it whenever he finds the folding sloppy.

In the end, Yangyang packs only a few outfits that will help him blend in with the students. Nothing too flashy, or else he might attract attention. And if he accidentally causes a ruckus, he is sure to be banished from the heavens by the higher-ups, with the outcome being high even without him making a mess.

From the corner of his eye, Yangyang sees Ten rolling his eyes. “If you’re here to judge which outfits I’m choosing, go away. I’m leaving for the dorms soon anyways, and you can go back to your mountains and temples or whatever.”

“Residence,” he corrects. “We don’t live in temples. Or near them, for that matter.”

“Right, I don’t really care. Same thing.” He packs a few more clothes into his luggage, then zips it closed and perches it up against the wall. “Do you have anything else to say to me?” His eyebrows are raised in question, his arms crossed as he awaits an answer.

“Well, have you checked what classes you’re taking?”

Yangyang looks down at the carpet to avoid eye contact. “I was planning on checking it next week,” he finally mutters. Despite the low volume of his voice, both Kun and Ten hear him. Of course they do.

“Well, you should probably check it now. You don’t wanna upset any of your professors on your first day,” Kun warns. He nudges Yangyang out of the room and toward the desktop they have, then disappears into the kitchen. Ten follows behind the youngest and places a hand on his shoulder in encouragement.

By the time Yangyang is settled into the seat and logging in to check his schedule, Kun is back with a few glasses of water. “Here, I thought you might need this. In case you freak out or something.”

Yangyang dismisses the comment as a mere diss, deciding to concentrate on what the display shows. Professor Jin for Korean and Professor Zheng for English—English sounds like a nightmare, even though all the reviews he pulls up are positive. Almost five stars, with one complaint about how his handsome face is a distraction. He scoffs at the comment. Professor Jin sounds even worse. The rating itself seems fine—four and a half stars—but the comments seem to say otherwise.

_The workload is hell but, somehow, every student in the class passes with flying colors._

_I think the professor is a vampire. Someone posted pictures of him from ten years ago and he looks the same. When I entered the classroom, he always had such a creepy smile. Don’t take the class, I think he’s trying to eat students._

_The professor is a strict grader. Glares at students too often._

Yangyang grits his teeth and continues, praying for better teachers. His art professor is Professor Li—Li Yongqin, to be exact. The name glares back at him threateningly, and he cocks his head, wondering where he’s heard that name before. It sounds similar. Probably a coincidence, he decides, as he types the name in the search bar. Nothing shows up, except for a couple of forum pages explaining he is a new professor. A disaster, since this means he has to try his best. Not that he isn’t already doing so, with the scary comments about his new Korean professor.

Ten snickers. Yangyang whips his head around in question. “What’s so funny?”

“No, it’s just-” Ten says in between laughs. “You said you were familiar with mortal technology and now you’re acting like your fingers are stuck to the keyboard and the monitor is something that shouldn’t exist in this realm.”

“Well, it technically doesn’t exist outside the mortal realm,” Kun cuts in. “So thinking like that isn’t exactly weird.”

“I _know_ what I’m doing,” Yangyang argues back. “It’s just that this professor is new so there isn’t any information about them.”

Leaning back into his seat, Yangyang stares at the blank screen. He could dig deeper or just wait until he gets to school. There, he could ask his roommate, maybe even people he will meet at the dorms.

Yangyang’s thoughts are cut off with the continuous chatter behind him, pushing him to trudge back to his room and tidy it up. He slams the door and retreats into the corner where his luggage is, then lets out a sigh as the nagging of the two infests his mind. Kun, who usually gives him leeway, has stepped away from helping him pack, insisting he needs to learn to be independent. Not that he’s actually dependent on Kun, just that his laziness comes into play more often than not when he’s surrounded by people who can help. And Ten—there’s little to say except for the fact that his persistence to keep the place spotless is beyond convincing. To the point that Yangyang’s room is, for the most part, neat.

Yangyang flops down on the bed, his mind clouded with thoughts about the following week. He should be excited—he is, just not as excited as he expected himself to be. He should be thrilled to even have heard his song, but with the start of the semester nearing, the anxious feelings inside of him start to increase as he counts down the days.

Uncertainty is the one factor stopping him from walking into mortal territory stress-free. He feels useless enough as it is, and with the possibility of finding the singer so slim, the weight only becomes heavier. For once, he has no control over what he wants to happen, and the only thing he can do at the moment is wait and hope for the best.

Then Kun’s reminder to blend in at school pops up in his head, and he goes back to sulking, with the blankets pulled over his head. Maybe he can think about this another day.

☂︎

It takes around an hour for Yangyang to arrive at the dorms, of it a third of that time spent panicking a second after he accidentally lost grip of his luggage at the top of the hill, allowing it to roll down, the same way the rock had done so the other day. Except this time, the suitcase is tumbling bumpily, tripping and grazing itself against the uneven cement each time a corner hits the ground with a _pang_.

On the bright side, none of his belongings have spilled out, and everything is intact, despite the white scratch marks creating a striking image against the solid mahogany color. Behind him, Ten laughs as Yangyang wipes the dust off with his hands, then proceeds to walk past him, his own bag in tow.

"Hurry up, you big baby, we're going to be late." Ten taps his foot in warning and pulls down the bill of his cap to hide his eyes. "Come on now, I really don't want to be seen mingling with a student on the first day of school," he mutters.

Yangyang groans. "I'm trying! And I'm not a big baby," he whines. "Besides, you were the one who decided to walk me to the dorms when I said I don't need help."

Ten only shakes his head and lets out a sigh of relief when Yangyang finally starts moving. In no time, they arrive at the entrance of the dormitory building. The minute Yangyang enters and turns back to find Ten, he is nowhere to be found. So much for accompanying him.

Navigating the halls is easy. Once he finishes taking a rapid tour around the first floor to check out the facilities provided, he takes the stairs for minimal traffic.

Avoiding people is harder than he expects it to be. Turns out taking a staircase was a poor decision on his part because many people, like him, have opted to walk the steps instead of waiting for the elevators. On the way up, someone tries to make conversation with him, which he avoids by pretending to not hear. The other doesn’t pursue his lack of response, and walks away once they reach the third floor.

On the fifth floor, someone gives him a, "What's up man?" while walking past with two other friends who are laughing a little too loudly. He gives a confused look, only to be returned with a puppy-like grin. In an attempt to appear friendly, he offers a shy smile before turning away to continue his journey up the stairs.

The rest of the way towards the room is a comfortable silence, albeit his face distorting into horror once in a while when he zones out and hears a conversation he never meant to eavesdrop on. As soon as he enters the room, he pushes the luggage against a wall and sits on the floor with his phone in hand.

Yangyang waits another hour and twenty minutes — in that time, he has drained over half of his phone battery by playing games — for his roommate to show up.

With that being said, he never had any expectations for his new roommate, hoping that, even if the person gave a bad impression, he would be able to find everything he needed and leave in a flash. But when his roommate shows up and waves shyly at him, fingers poking out of the sweater, he can see himself overstaying his welcome in the mortal realm.

The way Yangyang’s roommate has his head held up high despite his short stature excites him. Or not, depending on how their interactions go. But there’s another thing that catches him off guard. The strong aura radiating from him makes Yangyang stand up straight, as if any slip up will leave a poor impression.

Still, Yangyang rolls back his shoulders and walks up to him. His left hand is behind his back, playing with the hem of his t-shirt nervously, so he reaches out his right, as he has observed humans do, to greet him.

"Hey, I'm Yangyang, your roommate! Nice to meet you." He hopes the simple and clean introduction doesn’t come off stiff.

The other accepts the handshake, returning a grin neither real nor ingenuine. "I'm Huang Renjun." A pause. "Do you have a surname?"

His mind malfunctions for a second, then remembers what he put down for enrollment. "Oh yeah, it's Liu."

"And Yangyang isn't just a nickname?" Another question he hadn’t expected.

He shakes his head. "My parents gave me this name. A bit on the... " He wants to say "a bit on the cuter side" but is luckily saved by Renjun's comment.

"A bit cringe?" Renjun’s smile now is relaxed, nose slightly scrunching. _His eyes are pretty_.

Yangyang nods in agreement.

Renjun mutters something else inaudible, causing Yangyang to unconsciously lean in.

“Did you say something?”

Renjun looks up. “Ah, what’s your major?” The other waits expectantly for an answer, eyes shining as he speaks.

Yangyang gulps. Getting the answer out of his mouth is harder than he expects. “Chinese Traditional Music and Composition.”

“Really?” Renjun immediately moves closer to him, and holds his hand. “Me too!” If the way his roommate looked at him earlier was considered bright, then his eyes were now glowing. Innocent. Genuine. Curious. But just as they touch, Renjun jumps back, gaze clouded in concern.

Even though there aren’t actual rules about physical interactions with mortals, it’s never been recommended. There’s also a warning that should go off in the back of their hands, so even if they don’t understand why they shouldn’t be touching immortals, their bodies still react.

Nothing happens to Renjun, but Yangyang still fears for himself. Like mortals, gods have emotions, just that they can usually suppress them. And it’s only then does the panic truly settle in with Yangyang yearning for more, wanting it to happen again.

It feels like Renjun’s eyes are swimming in his, and he can do nothing but stare back.

Maybe this is a mistake. Coming down to regain some stupid glory of his all sounds like bullshit, when it probably won’t even happen. The only reason he was even allowed to be here was because the Heavens gave up on him. He was essentially allowed to do whatever he wanted, as long as he wasn’t harming any mortals.

And Renjun? Yangyang has no intentions of hurting him, but if either of them become emotionally attached, there is only one outcome: tragedy.

☂︎

Yangyang is five minutes away from a scolding when he walks into his first class of the semester. As he walks up the steps toward one of the back rows, a rhythmic sequence of taps starts to ring throughout the room. He finally settles down, then notices the professor at the front of the classroom now drumming his fingers against the table. Most seats in the classroom have already been taken, and the projector is already on, the start of a glaring neon blue powerpoint plastered on the large screen.

Yangyang leans forward on the table to get a closer look at the professor. He looks familiar. He’ss wearing glasses, his face is small yet defined, and his broad shoulders are accentuated by the polo he’s wearing. Yangyang sits back just as the clock strikes a new hour with a couple of pens in hand for twirling later. Unless the professor isn’t boring, but he thinks the idea is unlikely.

“Good morning, everyone, I will be your Korean professor for this semester, Professor Kim. Kim Doyoung.” No usage of Mandarin in this class, Yangyang notes.

Yangyang lurches in his seat, and it scrapes against the hardwood floor. From every corner of his eyes, there are students turning their heads to see where the sound came from, and among them is his roommate.

Yangyang blinks a couple of times, not expecting Renjun to have been in his Korean class. The class is still staring at him. He stands with a firm gaze directed to the front of the classroom and in a stiff yet clear voice, says, “I apologize,” then sits back down. Professor Kim gives a stern nod, barely noticeable before turning back to the slides.

“As I was saying,” the professor starts again, “I will be teaching you Korean this semester. Most of you, I’ve seen, but for those who are new to my classes, remember that this isn’t an easy class. Do not think you can slack off in here.”

Yangyang slumps back into his seat as the professor drones on and finally takes out his laptop, this time carefully, and opens up the syllabus. After scanning the document, he lowers the lid and tunes out the professor’s voice, focusing his attention on Renjun, who’s at the front of the classroom, attention completely on Professor Kim.

Despite the room being large and his professor’s voice echoing loudly throughout, his pen clicking doesn’t even reach the row in front of him. Only the guy sitting next to him glares at him briefly, but he quickly shifts a seat over, leaving an extra seat open, where he ends up placing his bag.

No one even glances at him. Everyone else is looking straight forward, postures straight and attentive. After much deliberation, he follows, but only because he looks like the odd one out. Both as a student and as an immortal whose goal is to not attract attention in any room with at least one mortal awake. Or asleep, for precautions.

Professor Kim must be a passionate teacher, Yangyang guesses, from the way his voice softens with instructions to how it elevates as he emphasizes certain points, even waking Yangyang up. Luckily, he gets by in peace, only met with occasional shushes and stares from the students near him.

When class is dismissed, Yangyang picks up his bag right away, not even bothering to look at his aim as he stuffs everything into his backpack, eyes following Renjun’s figure down below. Renjun makes a beeline toward the professor and Yangyang inwardly groans as he walks down the steps.

Yangyang opts for standing beside the row closest to the door. The farther away from the professor and his stern gaze, the better.

Renjun talks quietly and fast, and even with Yangyang’s acute hearing, he can barely make out what he is asking for. Still, Professor Kim nods with a small smile on his face, a stark contrast to how he had looked at Yangyang earlier. Even when Renjun speeds up the conversation with his rapid avalanche of questions, Professor Kim remains calm, voice low and hushed.

Yangyang snickers at the thought but quickly straightens up when Renjun bows and turns around. His eyes widen for a brief moment, then he gives a small wave before walking over.

“Yangyang, did you have anything you want to speak to me about?” Professor Kim’s voice rings clearly through the classroom.

“Um, nope!” Renjun has reached him, and Yangyang quickly grabs his wrist and leads him out of the classroom.

“Hey, you needed to talk to me about something?”

“Not really? I just-” Yangyang stops in his tracks, remembering he hadn’t even made up a reason to wait for Renjun. He just did. “Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to grab lunch together?” _Nice save_ , he tells himself.

“Sorry, but I have a meeting later. Maybe another time!” With his backpack slung over one shoulder and his jacket hanging off the other, Renjun rushes off and turns around the corner, not even giving Yangyang a chance to ask him where he’s going and when he’s available, if ever.

That was definitely not a nice save.

☂︎

Yangyang ends up off campus, far away from his only class of the day and his dorm building. He’s lying down on the carpet in the living room, right behind Xuxi and Guanheng who are deeply immersed in a game of Mario Kart. On the sofa to his left, Dejun is sitting cross-legged with a guitar in his lap. After every few strums, he puts it down to give Yangyang a look of disappointment.

“Can you please stop?” Yangyang grabs the newspaper he had been holding onto and puts it over his head to hide his tired expressions. Not that they don’t already know he’s extremely tired.

“Stop bothering and let you mope? Not a chance,” Dejun snaps.

“Ugh, just let me mope.”

Guanheng turns around and gives Yangyang a poke on his side, who moves away on instinct and hits his head against the sofa. Yangyang winces. “He’s right. We came here to help you! Look, even our mentors got jobs at the school, and now we’re registered at the school with you as students. If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t be here.”

Yangyang groans. He can’t even argue back because they’re absolutely right. Even though Kun and Ten have been their mentors since the beginning, they can’t always be with them. To sacrifice their time to accompany Yangyang at this school means they are leaving behind their usual jobs. Sicheng is usually running errands near the court, and his absence could definitely lead to chaos.

Yangyang is grateful. His fellow brothers all have better status than him, yet they chose to stick with him and venture into a part of the mortal world where they would be interacting with humans for a while.

He feels guilty, he really does. But how could he give up a chance like this to possibly find what he’s been looking for the past millennium? Right when he wanted to give up, the voice that hummed the melody, _his_ melody, pulled him back out of his slump. He wants to find out more, look for whoever it was.

It’s a great sacrifice, he knows. To venture out into the mortal world, to abide by their rules, then launch himself into an environment filled with them. Adjusting is hard.

“Say, if someone hugs you, are you allowed to hug them back?” Yangyang thinks about the possibility of hugging someone from this realm. Anyone. Maybe his roommate? Who knows?

“I don’t know…” By now, both Xuxi and Guanheng have dropped their controllers. Even with his face covered, Yangyang can feel that all three of them are staring at him. He ignores it and tries coming up with an answer to his own question.

“Ask Kun or Ten later,” Dejun suggests. “Maybe they’ll know.”

“I can’t say for sure,” Guanheng starts. “But I think you can. I mean, common courtesy, right? It would be rude to just stand there. Imagine being a god and demanding respect when you can’t even respect others.”

“Like-”

“Shut up, Xuxi. Let’s not talk about those obnoxious people,” Guanheng cuts in. “Anyways, don’t expect anyone to hug you. I think you spent too long in Europe and the States and now you think everyone will be all over you. This is China, and you’re studying at a competitive art school. No one has the time to give you attention.”

“Don’t say that to him. You’re hurting his feelings!” Dejun throws a pillow at Guanheng, which just bounces off his chest and onto Yangyang’s stomach. “Oh god, I didn’t mean for it to hit you.”

When the weight disappears from his stomach, Yangyang removes the newspaper from his face and throws it absentmindedly, hoping it lands past his feet. It does, and he sighs in relief.

“It’s fine, really. Nothing could be more embarrassing than asking hundreds of thousands of people on the street if they know the God of Festive Music, Yangyang, only to hear a ‘no’ every single time,” he grumbles.

“Did you actually do that?” Xuxi leans forward, face now looming over Yangyang’s.

“Xuxi!” Dejun chucks another pillow in the direction of the trio, this time hitting Xuxi square in the head and knocking him toward the floor.

“Don’t think it’s embarrassing. I think it’s admirable, so you- No, Guanheng, stop coddling him like a child! We’re all too old for this, and there aren’t any mortals here.”

Yangyang turns his head slightly to the right to watch Guanheng putting a hand on Lucas’s forehead and whispering a few words of comfort.

“Anyways, I think it’s fine. Nothing wrong with wanting to know if people still remember you.”

Yangyang directs his attention back to Dejun and gives a weak smile.

“Thank you,” he mouths.

Dejun shoots a smile back at him, then gets up from the couch and steers toward the kitchen. Yangyang shifts his gaze, eyes never leaving the back of Dejun’s figure as he hoists himself up and follows suit.

Yangyang drags one of the stools against the hardwood floor and hops on the seat, props his elbows up on the marble island and watches as Dejun grabs a pint of ice cream from the freezer.

“Really? Ice cream in the winter?”

“What do you want then? I’ll buy you something for New Year’s.” Dejun sits opposite of Yangyang and slides a spoon over the counter toward Yangyang. “Here, for later.”

“You could’ve just grabbed another bowl,” he mutters.

Dejun shrugs. “Less utensils for me to wash.”

“But it’s gonna melt!” Yangyang whines.

“Fine, don’t eat it.” Xiaojun plunges the spoon deep into the ice cream and scoops up a chunk that threatens to fall off. He stuffs it into his mouth right away, then continues after he finishes that bite. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“ _Baobing_.” Yangyang leans forward, eyes glinting as he answers. _Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes._ He closes his eyes and imagines a bowl of shaved ice decorated with condensed milk and strawberry syrup, another scoop of ice cream sitting on top.

“No. And before you ask, it’s because I would have to buy those ingredients on top of preparing for the New Year’s meal.”

Yangyang pouts and quickly switches his gaze to puppy eyes, like he had always done back home when they were training together. If Yangyang wanted an extra piece of beef or chicken, Dejun would put it in his bowl, even if he would sometimes get scolded by Kun or Ten. Sometimes, Xuxi or Guanheng would cover for him if he snuck into the kitchens and snatched a few desserts then split it amongst the four of them. After all, they were brothers in some way, training at the same time, living together, even accompanying one another on missions.

“Absolutely not. Learn to survive by yourself, and do _not_ use spiritual energy to skirt around all the rules.”

“But-”

“You’ll be caught if you get into the habit. You’re living with a mortal now, in a building full of them. You have to be careful,” Dejun warns.

“How am I supposed to even survive without using a little bit?”

“You could come stay with us for a while, or at Kun’s,” he suggests. “Ten’s?” he adds. “Anyways, just sleep over at one of ours, and pray your roommate doesn’t ask any questions. If he thinks you’re shady, just…”

“Deny curtly and continue what I’m doing.”

“Yeah. That. As long as he doesn’t start trying to investigate.”

“Got it.”

“Just… be careful, okay? I know you’re trying to find something, but don’t hurt yourself in the process.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Yangyang stands on the foot ring of the stool and reaches out to snatch the pint of ice cream away from Dejun’s grasp. He plops himself right back into the seat and digs in, savoring the mix of pineapple and coconut in his mouth, nodding absentmindedly as Dejun continues to lecture him.

☂︎

The following Sunday, Yangyang wanders on campus alone, phone in one hand and the other stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. Earlier, he called Ten to accompany him on a campus tour, only for him to be met with a series of muffled dialogue and a click. It was likely Ten was talking to Kun, so Yangyang decided to give up and continue walking around by himself.

Yangyang lifts his head up a few seconds after a chorus of cheers erupts in the distance. He spots a crowd gathered near one of the new classroom buildings, the sleek ones with glass windows from ceiling to floor, and a gray ladder shines against the towering wall. As he approaches, a figure emerges out of the crowd and climbs up the ladder, an edge of a large poster clamped down with his mouth. He walks over to find the one currently tackling the poster to the wall with strips and strips of bright blue duct tape is none other than his own roommate.

When Renjun finishes adding small cuts of tape around the edges, the crowd cheers again. He lowers himself at a steady pace, eyes glued to the floor, stepping down only after stabilizing himself.

In a split second of impulsive decisions, Yangyang walks toward the crowd, already reaching the outer circle of people. His eyes dart around and finally land on Renjun’s head that’s barely visible from where he is, and he jogs up to him.

“Hey, roommate,” Renjun says curtly, sensing Yangyang wants something from him.

“It’s Yangyang, actually.” So maybe Yangyang is a little butthurt his roommate doesn’t know his name.

“I do. But it’s easier to identify you as the roommate, y’know?”

“Oh.”

“So, you wanted to talk to me about something?”

Yangyang is stumped. He continues walking alongside Renjun, eyes focusing to make their footsteps match. He gives up momentarily to answer. “I just wanted to ask you what the poster you put up was about.” He goes back to pacing his own walking, having given up on trying to match Renjun’s short yet quick strides.

“You didn’t read the poster? Most people come just to see what it is.”

“No, I was just wandering around on campus. And I wanted to catch you since we haven’t really talked.”

“I don’t really have the time for that.”

“But I don’t really know anyone here. And you could probably do a better job of explaining what the poster’s about!” Yangyang adds, hoping for a more enthusiastic answer.

Renjun stops in his tracks, and Yangyang has to turn back to face him as he has walked too far. “The poster’s for the upcoming winter fall production. We have three throughout the school year — one in the fall near the Mid-Autumn Festival, one in the winter near the Lunar New Year, and another one near the Dragon Boat Festival. What I just put up today is for the winter one, of course, since it’s January right now, and it’s a theme reveal since it _is_ one of the biggest events of the year. In addition to the actual event night, of course.”

Yangyang steps forward in excitement, causing Renjun to back away a step. “So you act?”

“What? No, I’m too short for acting. And I’m not really interested. I actually write the pieces for the Chinese orchestra with a team. Usually I’m the one who puts the posters up because most of the people on the crew are either too busy rehearsing or they’re gonna break focus if they come out and start wondering. I take it out so other people can continue being productive.” He glances at his watch and grimaces. “Anyways, I’ve gotta go since I’m running late. Nice talking to you, Yangyang. Let’s talk another time, preferably when I’m not so busy.”

Yangyang wishes he knew more. It seems that, in the two times they’ve actually seen each other and Yangyang has tried to strike up a conversation, Renjun has managed to dash off every time because he has other tasks to attend to. He starts to wonder if this is just a way for Renjun to avoid him, but his first introduction in the dorm wasn’t that bad, right?

☂︎

On the first Tuesday of the semester, the first full week of the school, Yangyang finds himself dozing off in English class. Professor “Just call me Jaehyun, it’s cool bro, and my last name is actually Jung” Zheng is the most laidback teacher he has ever met. Minus the rolling list of assignments that has his head spinning, which he stops paying attention to a couple minutes in.

“Alright, that’s it for today. I know my students last year complained about there being too many assignments, so I tried cutting it down. Any questions?”

Cutting it down? _Cutting it down?_ That is all Yangyang wants to ask. He’s sure this list of assignments for the semester is longer than all the classes he has taken in his life, _including_ on his trips overseas.

The classmate next to him is still packing the remaining of his belongings into his backpack, and Yangyang tugs the end of said person’s sleeve before they can leave.

“ … Yes? You need anything?”

“Uh, do we have anything due before the next class?”

Yangyang receives a look of doubt and squints, then a reply, albeit an unhelpful one. “There’s quite a bit. You can sit with me for lunch and I’ll explain to you at the cafeteria, since I’m going there now. Unless you have something else to do…”

“Oh yeah, I can come with you to lunch! I don’t really know anyone around here anyways.” He is definitely not letting go of a chance to interact with his classmates.

“Aren’t you in your fourth year?”

Yangyang blinks. How is he supposed to respond again? “Ah, I moved here just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Got it. By the way, my name is Chenle. You are?”

“Yangyang. Liu Yangyang.” Chenle nods but doesn’t say anything else, just gestures for him to follow along.

Yangyang scrambles to gather his belongings and trails behind as they walk toward the cafeteria. Twice, he almost loses Chenle, but only because he gets distracted by the artwork hung throughout the hallways. They are everywhere. He gets upset when he comes across one of Xuxi slaying a demon with a caption that says, _Military Diety Xuxi slays a demon to protect all the villagers in Taigu_. Not a single piece of artwork of the God of Festive Music, Yangyang, to be seen. He should change that.

“Yangyang?”

He looks away from the painting and bows his head slightly. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“Well, you can always come back later,” Chenle suggests. “They’re always there. But for now, we’ve gotta get going or else we won’t have any seats in the cafeteria.”

“Right.” He follows along, chuckling as he observes from behind Chenle walking with a bounce in his steps. The cafeteria has yet to crowd up, allowing him to navigate with ease through the rows and rows of tables. Everything, the tables and chairs, all the lights and lines and borders, is so perfectly aligned, a rare and satisfying sight for even his trained eyesight.

Chenle comes to a halt at one of the tables, and Yangyang lets out a small gasp, before slipping into the empty seat on the edge, right next to Chenle.

“Hey, Yangyang, what brings you here?” He definitely did not expect to see Xuxi of all people here.

“You know him?” Chenle asks. He looks back and forth between the two.

“Oh yeah, uh…”

“Never mind about that,” Chenle cuts in. “We can ask about that later. For now, let’s introduce you to the others.” Chenle gestures to the one sitting right in front of Yangyang. “That’s Jisung. He’s a foreign exchange student. He’s a third year like me.” Yangyang nods daintily, urging Chenle to continue. “And the one next to him is Renjun.”

“I know,” he squeaks. “We share a couple of classes.” He doesn’t have time to add that they are also roommates before Chenle starts talking again.

Chenle clasps his hands together. “Great! Well, say hi to everyone, Yangyang.” He turns to the others, all sitting opposite the two of them. “This is Yangyang. I met him in my English class, and he followed me because he said he doesn’t have any friends and didn’t pay attention in class.”

Yangyang, from the corner of his eye, sees Lucas turn his head in the other direction, presumably trying to hold in his laughter. He also spots Renjun, who laughs into the sleeves of his hoodie then quickly straightens up in his seat and digs into the food as if nothing happened.

“Oh right. How do you know xuxi?”

“Well…” His mind draws a blank. He’s a terrible liar, rarely having had to do so all his life, especially when his interactions with the outside world were so limited. He looks at Xuxi with widened eyes, giving a slight nod in the direction of Chenle. Xuxi is perhaps a worse liar than Yangyang is, but maybe he has a backstory planned, considering he _did_ laugh at Yangyang for not preparing anything before coming into the school.

“We’re childhood friends!” Xuxi exclaims, breaking the silence overtaking the group. “Actually, we lived on the same street, and since we went to the same school, we would hang out together a lot.” Yangyang nods in affirmation, not knowing what else to add. “And look, we even ended up in the same university!” Xuxi ends it with a wide grin, eyes brimming with innocence. If Yangyang did not know Xuxi for over five centuries, he would believe the genuity, the carefree character of his. Not to say that Xuxi isn’t carefree because he is, just that the background story he came up with screams cliché in a million different ways.

“Ooh, that’s cool!” Chenle definitely has no idea. Renjun nods along to Chenle’s statement while Jisung only shoots Yangyang an awkward smile that never reaches his eyes. Courteous of him but not enough to make Yangyang comfortable.

Yangyang tries plastering a more genuine smile on his face, seeing Lucas’s made-up story isn’t that far off. They didn’t live in the same street; they lived in the same building. Yangyang wouldn’t say they hung out together either, but they were training mates who sometimes happened to be sparring partners. So it wasn’t that off in retrospect, but Yangyang was having trouble playing it cool. Luckily, Chenle has a lot to say, and he keeps the conversation going without Yangyang having to try, only occasionally feeling like he should insert a comment or two so Chenle isn’t the only one talking.

Chenle starts to ramble on about how he _loves_ Jaehyun. Yangyang winces when he hears the first name, unaccustomed to any names that aren’t titles or last names for his superiors and mentors. Just a name… Yangyang doesn’t know if he could get used to it. The only information he takes away from Chenle’s monologue about his favorite professor is that he is the best professor on campus, although Renjun raising his eyebrows and smirking at the line has Yangyang thinking Chenle is possibly being very biased because he actually excels in the class.

“Come on, Renjun, don’t give me that look!” Chenle protests upon seeing Renjun’s expression. “He’s cooler once you get to know him!”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t really care. I’m too busy to get to know any of my professors.”

“Except Professor Jin.”

“Except Professor Jin,” Renjun echoes. “For the recommendation letters. Also because his class is harder, so it’s nice to get some tips from him for assignments and exams.”

“Ugh, you’re right. But you really should stop spending so much time on the play. You don’t even go back to your dorms! Consider your poor roommate, all sad and lonely, staying up until four in the morning to make sure you got home safely,” Chenle sighs dramatically.

Yangyang winces. He doesn’t think he would stay up until four in the morning just to make sure Renjun is back, but he is definitely curious about why. “Is he always working on the play?” Renjun simply nods, but Chenle launches into another series of complaints.

“Oh my god, don’t even get me started. He’s busy enough as it is, trying to get himself any job or volunteering opportunity he can get his hands on.” Chenle turns to Yangyang dramatically, a pointed look on his face. “You know what’s worse? I once went into his dorm to watch him work and hopefully get some work done because he said he wouldn’t be available to talk to me, and what did I see? He plays his music on full blast! I mean, I get that when you’re writing the tracks yourself you want to turn the volume up so you can hear it more clearly, but _full_ volume? I’m surprised he’s not even deaf. Even more surprised his roommate hasn’t complained or moved out.” Chenle huffs and turns back to face the front, arms crossed in front of his chest as Renjun just chuckles.

“Well, my roommate hasn’t complained about me coming home late,” Renjun says. “I’m pretty sure he’ll tell me if he’s annoyed.” Renjun sends him a knowing look, and Yangyang squirms in his seat, unsure whether he should say that _he_ is the roommate.

“Who the _hell_ is your roommate, Renjun? I have to thank them for dealing with you.”

“It’s me,” Yangyang squeaks.

Chenle whips his head around, eyes threatening to bulge out, then puts his hands on Yangyang’s shoulders. “You. I salute you.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Alright, Chenle, get your hands off of Yangyang. I think you just confused him even more.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Chenle removes his hands, then finally digs into his tray of previously untouched food. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

Yangyang nods. He doesn’t know whether to be tired by or thankful for how much Chenle talks, but at least it did seem to break the ice a little, especially as he had never seen Renjun speak outside of rather pressing matters.

☂︎

Beyond the mention of Renjun’s audio equipment being a disturbance, Yangyang never figures out if it’s true or just a result of Chenle’s exaggeration. Instead, he spends most of his time at Kun and Ten’s. Kun is at home the most, with Ten being out to teach and then accompanying Sicheng at the dance studio. Ten and Sicheng are usually only around on Friday evenings, opting to dedicate hours of their weekends toward the dance studio business. Yangyang finds it a waste of time, but Ten says it builds credibility for the two of them on campus.

Friday evenings are his favorite, mostly because it feels like a family dinner, with all seven of them gathered at the table, helping themselves to a scrumptious meal. They’ll bicker, sometimes complain about the higher ups, then fight for the remote as they snuggle in for their entertainment of the night. It feels like home, except in a smaller building.

On the days Ten and Sicheng aren’t around, the house is mostly occupied by Yangyang. Kun, before the semester started, gave Yangyang a spare key to the house, in case he ever wanted to go inside. The others almost never visit unless it’s Friday evenings, leaving Yangyang alone in his old room, shut out from the outside world. Kun is often running errands for both the school and the higher ups back home, so it isn’t a surprise Yangyang gets the house to himself most of the time. He does his homework, sleeps, basically lives there like it’s his residence, forgetting his actual dorm room.

Today is another day of Yangyang visiting because Ten is, surprisingly, at home on a Saturday. He is wearing a hoodie today, straying from his much needed parka because he knows Ten has the heater on full blast in the house despite Kun’s complaints.

As soon as Yangyang rings the doorbell, a heated conversation erupts inside the house, which Yangyang makes out to be between Kun and Ten, distinguishing the two voices, one a full resonance and the other at a higher pitch on the thinner end. He turns away, about to walk off, when the door opens. Yangyang whips his head back, coming face to face with Professor Jin. He puts a hand over his mouth, but follows him in when he just gestures for him to come in.

“They’re…”

“Fighting?” Anyone could tell, Yangyang wants to add.

“It’s not that serious. And you can call me Doyoung outside of class, it’s fine, really.”

“Right, Professor- Doyoung,” he rushes to correct himself.

When they arrive in the living room, the two are still arguing. Yangyang tunes them out right away and navigates away and into the kitchen, grabs a bottle of jasmine green tea he had put in the refrigerator the previous day, then ducks away. He gives Doyoung a small wave and disappears into the hallway, heading into his room at the end of the hall.

Maybe this was the wrong day for him to come back, but seeing Ten home instead of at school is a rarity, one that he wants to take advantage of.

☂︎

Turns out, Doyoung appearing at Kun’s and Ten’s becomes a daily thing, and Yangyang, into the second week, decides he needs to stop visiting. He doesn’t need to see his Korean Professor every day of the week on top of his three classes each week.

Staying in the dorms by himself creates a whole new set of problems, all under a category labeled “Renjun.”

For starters, Renjun is rarely ever in the dorm. He expected this, with Chenle constantly talking about it, but he never thought it would be this serious, to the point where he, a mere classmate, almost a stranger, was concerned. Yangyang never thinks about it while studying, but as soon as he stops and starts sitting in bed or fumbling through his mini collection of books, the prolonged silence becomes suffocating. If he didn’t play music in the room while he was idling around, he’s sure it would be worse.

The other problem is, he can never get a good night’s sleep. Yangyang wants to blame Renjun, but with how tired Renjun must be, he doesn’t dare. He’s always asleep before midnight, having nothing to do besides sleep, but always wakes up to the door opening and the lock clicking.

In those groggy moments, Yangyang will open his eyes and face a sight of Renjun who shuffles around, bags hitting the floor and keys clanging against his desk, then a rather heavy dive into his twin sized bed. It never fails to make Yangyang grimace, but he wants to go back to sleep more than he has any will to complain at three in the morning.

 _I’ll do it the next morning_ , Yangyang tells himself. It never happens. Not the next morning, nor in any of their shared classes. And not in the cafeteria where he barely sees him, definitely not when he _is_ there and Chenle looks the most excited to have Renjun around. Definitely not.

☂︎

Eating with Chenle and Jisung becomes a routine Yangyang gets used to. He’s almost sure Chenle is closer to Renjun, but the latter is only around when he is free, which translates to never, except on special occasions, according to Chenle. A so-called special occasion has yet to happen. And Lucas, despite being introduced as a friend, is almost never around, presumably because he is with Dejun and Guanheng.

“No, the tone is wrong! Just… yeah do the head thing. Yeah, there you go!” Yangyang jumps in his seat at Chenle’s sudden exclamations. Chenle is currently working with Jisung on his pronunciation, mostly guiding Jisung by nodding his head as he slowly goes through the tones of each syllable. Yangyang is sitting next to Chenle, silently observing as he eats his lunch.

Chenle stops helping Jisung and turns to Yangyang, asking, “How’s Renjun doing these days?”

“No idea. I just know he comes back pretty late, but I don’t really talk to him.”

“Not even in class?”

“Well, um…” Chenle is right. Yangyang could talk to him in class, but he is sure he doesn’t want to, mainly because Renjun loves sitting in the very front for Doyoung’s class while he himself does not. “It’s mostly individual work in the class, so there isn’t really a need to.” It isn’t far from the truth.

Chenle nods. “Makes sense. Renjun never asks his classmates questions when it’s for individual work.” He gives Yangyang a once over. “And you sound smart to not need help in class I guess.”

“Thanks…?”

“It’s fine. Renjun sounds stressed when he texts me, but I’m just not sure _how_ stressed since the way he texts is the same, no matter if it’s level one stress or level ten stress.”

“I don’t even have his number,” Yangyang mumbles.

Chenle’s sharp hearing catches his words, and he offers to give him Renjun’s number. “Just in case, y’know!”

Yangyang shakes his head. “I don’t really think there’d be a reason for me to contact him, and don’t you think it’s a bit weird if I got it from you instead of asking him directly?”

Chenle gives another nod. “You’re right. Renjun has a whole crew he works with, so hopefully they’re taking good care of him.”

Yangyang wants to tune Chenle out, but turns out, more questions are coming his way.

“Why aren’t you at the dorm though?”

“Oh.” Yangyang puts his chopsticks down on the tray and wipes his mouth before continuing. “I’m usually at Xuxi’s place.” A lie. He is usually at _Kun_ and _Ten’s_ place. “His place is off campus and cleaner than the dorms,” he admits. That part is true. The dorms are clean, but they’re only as clean as a university dorm can be.

“That’s cool! Maybe he’ll let us visit sometime and-”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, they have a few pets that constantly roam around, and it’s kind of small to hold that many people.” Another lie. They don’t have any pets in their off-campus apartment. The place is actually huge, but it is filled with hints of their identity. It would take way too long to hide everything and make the place presentable and unsuspecting to even the observant human eye.

“That’s too bad. He should eat lunch with us more often then. I never get to see him around.”

“Yeah,” Yangyang croaks, unable to think of more to say. “You’re right.”

Chenle gives him a pat on his back, then refocuses his attention on Jisung, who had been left out of the entire conversation, unintentional on Yangyang’s part since he just wanted to eat and leave. Chenle continues his pronunciation lessons with Jisung, so concentrated on fixing each minuscule error he never notices Yangyang slip away, not even when Jisung raises his hand for a goodbye wave.

☂︎

 _Did he sleep enough?_ An arrow hits the edge of the dartboard and bounces right off, dropping to the ground. _Has he eaten yet?_ The arrow sticks itself to the board but at the furthest point from the center. It hangs on, just barely. _Is he still working?_ Bullseye.

Yangyang closes his eyes for a second then opens them, this time with determination burning through him. It’s late in the evening, and Renjun is probably starving. He gets up and throws on a jacket and jumps into his pants, then leaves the dorm with one goal in mind: get food to Renjun.

Halfway across campus, he realizes two things:

He has no idea where Renjun works, much less where the school theater is, and there is not a figure to be seen roaming around campus at eleven in the evening besides his own.

He doesn’t have food, and he can’t cook. He’s never bought takeout before either.

His feet pick up pace, crossing the entire campus in large strides. A few minutes away and he, once again, lands himself in front of Kun’s and Ten’s door. He knocks instead of ringing the doorbell this time, and he is greeted at the door by Ten, who is wearing a robe and slippers, his hair damp, presumably from showering not long ago.

“Hey, what brings you here?” Ten asks as Yangyang steps in.

“I got stuck on something and I need advice.”

“Well, you’re not struggling in any of your classes.”

“How would you know that?” They arrive in the kitchen and Yangyang wants to turn around and leave.

Ten puts his hands on Yangyang’s shoulder and pushes him forward, pulling a stool out so they are seated by the island. “I talk with the staff, duh.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” he mutters, glancing at Doyoung for a second then returning his gaze to the marble counter. Kun has yet to notice him, with his back turned to them as he washes the dishes.

“Doyoung, why did you stop talking?” Kun is wiping his hands on a towel as Doyoung stares straight at Yangyang. He shifts in his seat, then gives a weak smile out of respect.

“Oh. Your son came in.” His smile disappears just as Kun turns around, grinning when his eyes settle on Yangyang.

“It’s so late! Why are you here?” Kun settles on a stool adjacent to Yangyang’s side. Doyoung finally takes a seat, but Yangyang scowls when he doesn’t move out of his direct line of vision.

“I have a few problems,” he mumbles, embarrassed to be opening up about this in front of his own professor who is barely impressed by his performance in class.

“What-”

“Renjun,” Ten and Doyoung chime.

Yangyang buries his head into his hands, resisting the urge to remove himself from the icy marble surface. “Don’t say anymore.” He did not think he was that obvious. “Please,” he adds, voice diminishing.

Ten ignores his request and starts talking. “Kun, you really should come in and watch my class. Or just watch Yangyang, I don’t care. He doesn’t even pay attention in class. All he does is stare at Renjun.”

Yangyang lifts his head up and glares at Ten, who is sitting to his right. “What do you mean, I don’t pay attention? I’m doing well in your class,” he whines. “Ask him,” he says, pointing at Doyoung, “I’m doing pretty well in his class too.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “I know that. I told you I talk to the staff quite often. _Especially_ Doyoung,” he adds, a smirk forming on his face. “Anyways, what you got now, kiddo?”

“Renjun- Well he’s- I mean-” The stumbling of his words leads to him losing breath, and he looks ready to faint any second.

“Slow down,” Ten coaxes as he pats Yangyang’s back. “One word at a time.”

“Food.”

Ten raises an eyebrow. “Food. And?”

“Renjun.”

“We already got that, boy.”

“I think he’s saying Renjun needs food,” Doyoung comments.

Yangyang nods in agreement, unable to utter another word.

“You should get him coffee,” Ten suggests.

Doyoung snickers. “I don’t think Yangyang even has his phone number, never mind his coffee order. He’s most likely gonna get the wrong coffee order from a shitty coffee place.”

“I am _not_ going to-”

“I’ve only ever seen Kun and Ten drink tea. There’s no way you drink coffee if all they have is stashes and stashes of tea leaves in your cabinets.”

“How do you know?”

Doyoung shrugs. “I got a house tour.” Yangyang’s jaw drops, and Doyoung reassures him with an exasperated sigh, “No, I didn’t see your room. Don’t worry.”

“Doyoung has a point. Then let’s make him dessert!” Ten exclaims.

“Now? It’s going to be midnight by the time Yangyang reaches Renjun. Will he even be awake?” Even with his remarks, Kun is already off the stool, reaching into the cabinet for ingredients and mixing bowls.

Ten dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “I know those kids who work on the play production are hard at work until three in the morning all the time. Midnight is nothing for Renjun.”

“This is so ridiculous,” Yangyang mutters under his breath. “I could just buy fried chicken or something and ask him what he likes when I see him later.”

“That’s ridiculous. Dessert is made from the _heart_ ,” Ten says dramatically.

“I’m not even the one making it.”

“Same thing, same thing. I’ll pair you up in class some time so you can talk to him more,” Ten singsongs.

“We don’t do pair work in your class,” Yangyang deadpans.

Ten sighs. “You’re right.” He turns to Doyoung, who has one elbow propped up, face resting on his hand. “Can you?”

Doyoung gives a small nod. “I have to pair everyone off for a project next week anyways. I’ll tweak the list later.”

“Thanks, Doyoung.”

“No problem. Please pay me back with better tea leaves.”

Ten huffs. “The tea leaves are perfectly fine and-”

“They’re terrible,” Kun cuts in. “We’ll get you some better ones next time, Doyoung.”

Doyoung launches into a lecture on the quality of tea leaves and how to make tea, a cue for Yangyang to leave. He slides off the stool and slips into his room, where his memory foam pillow and blankets are right where he had left them. His feet take him to the bed and he flops onto the mattress, face diving straight into his pillow and getting squished by it.

Yangyang falls asleep at some point because he is later woken up by a knock on his door. His groggy state allows him to turn over to stare at the door, but he loses energy when he tries to lift his head.

“I made chocolate chip cookies,” Kun starts. “I would’ve made red bean soup since it’s faster, but I know you have a tendency to spill things. Didn’t think you walking on campus with a container of that seemed like a good idea so-”

“I know, I know.”

“I’m just saying.”

Yangyang finally pulls himself out of bed and follows Kun back into the kitchen, where Ten and Doyoung are still sitting. He spots the tray of chocolate chip cookies sitting in the middle of the counter. A few pieces are missing, and one look at the chocolate smeared all over Ten’s lips says it all.

“Can I really take all of this?”

“Of course! Renjun can’t be the only one still working, right?”

Yangyang gives an affirmative nod as he takes a piece and pops it into his mouth. “It tastes good.”

“Of course it does.” Ten slaps his arm. “Do you really think Kun will give you something disgusting to bring to Renjun?”

“No, but you would do it. Probably by accident.” He peers at Doyoung who is simply smiling as they converse. “And he probably looks like he’d do it on purpose,” he adds, jerking his head in Doyoung’s direction.

“Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Yang-”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m out of here.” He slams the lid on top of the container and slides it against the counter toward him, into the reusable bag he’s holding right under the counter edge. Before the three can say another word, he leaves the apartment, tray of cookies held with both hands, carrying a hum as he skips down the stairs.

The walk back to the campus is smooth. He arrives in front of the amphitheatre lobby in no time, and enters the door that is propped open. When he steps in, a few of the students scattered around on the floor look up then get back to their work. He treads through with small steps, making sure not to step on anyone or anything. It’s hard, with folders and pens everywhere, but he manages to make it through, to the other side.

But Yangyang still has no idea where he is going. He turns to the closest person and taps their shoulder. They are holding a clipboard up against the wall, then lets it drop and swivels around to face him.

“You’re not one of us, huh?”

“I- No? I guess not.” He pauses. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come here. The container of cookies tugs at him and his shoulder drops a little, and he hurries to lift it up and hold it with both hands. “I’m looking for Huang Renjun.”

“Oh.” They look him up and down, eyes settling on the suspicious looking bag in his hand. “Follow me.”

Yangyang does. The other leads him to another door that opens up to another hallway. They halt their steps at one of the first doors and give a heavy knock on the door.

The door swings open. “What do you- Yangyang, what are you doing here?” He holds up the bag of cookies to Renjun’s face with half a smile pressed onto his face. Renjun’s eyes soften. He pulls Yangyang in and slams the door on the other person.

“It’s really late,” Renjun says. He guides Yangyang to a corner of the room and pulls over two chairs, one for Yangyang, one for himself.

Yangyang scratches his head. “Thought you might be hungry. Here.” He takes the container of cookies out of the bag and hands it to Renjun, placing it in both his palms for a stable hold.

He opens it and gasps. “Yangyang, you didn’t have to. I can’t-”

“You can share it with the others,” he rushes to say. Renjun nods and puts the container back on.

“Do you want me to see you out?”

“I’m good.” Yangyang stands up and heads for the door. He rests his hand on the doorknob then turns back and gives Renjun a small wave. “Take care.” Renjun returns it with his own, fingers barely sticking out of the sleeves of his sweater. _Cute_ , Yangyang thinks.

On the way out, he sends Ten a message, sharing that he successfully delivered the cookies to Renjun. He gets one back in the form of a selfie with Kun and Doyoung in the back, waving at the camera shutter. Maybe it won’t be that bad after all.

☂︎

As Doyoung had promised, Renjun and Yangyang are put into the same group for their Korean class project. Renjun is a good student, as is Yangyang, but they are both stumped by the topic. Or lack thereof.

“You can do it on anything you want,” Doyoung had said. “As long as it’s ten minutes long and you present it in Korean. Remember to cite your sources, or I’m docking points off.”

“So,” Renjun starts. “You have any ideas?” They are sitting in the back of the classroom — Renjun had twisted in his seat earlier to wave at Yangyang and tell him he would go up — voices bouncing off the walls.

“Nope.” Yangyang fills in the awkward silence by twirling the pen in his hand, all the while thinking of what else he could say. “Thought you might have an idea since you’re Do- Professor Kim’s star student.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow at Yangyang’s stuttering, then coughs and says, “Professor seems to like you a lot.”

“He hates me.” Yangyang looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, who definitely heard him. “Well,” he gulps, eyes moving back to Renjun, “he definitely doesn’t like me as much as he likes you.”

Renjun lowers his chin, a slight smile spreading across his face. He hides behind the laptop he has open and clicks around before looking up again. “I think I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re in the same major, Yang. We could do a presentation on music.”

“Like scales or…”

“Yes, we’re going to talk about ionian and dorian scales.” Renjun rolls his eyes. “No, we’ll probably just talk a little about history and usage.”

“Geez,” Yangyang mutters. “That was brutal.”

“So, what do you say?”

“It’s a good idea. But are we starting now?”

“Yeah? Maybe?” Renjun turns his laptop screen so it’s facing Yangyang. “Let’s figure when we can meet since this,” he taps a finger on the screen, “is my current schedule.”

“Oh.” He stares at the calendar spread for the week. Almost every single hour is colored, with early mornings being the only exception. “How do you…”

“It’s nothing. Last semester, and then this is over.”

“Right,” he breathes, his words accompanied by a little nod.

Yangyang pulls up his own schedule, which is empty compared to Renjun’s. He gives it to the other and lets him organize the upcoming meetings, and drums his fingers on the table as he waits.

Every now and then, Doyoung looks up with a smirk on his face, unbeknownst to Renjun who has his back to the professor, and Yangyang can only shoot a glare before directing his attention back to the conversation at hand. He shudders at the thought of Doyoung telling Kun and Ten about what happens in his classroom, afraid he will be exposed once again for how he acts toward Renjun.

“Done. I’ve emailed a schedule to you.”

“Thanks.” He takes his laptop back and turns it off before stuffing it into his bag. “You wanna grab lunch together?” _Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes._

“Oh, um, I’ve got another meeting with the production team. Maybe after the play? We’re probably celebrating after the show next week, so you can come then?” Renjun suggests.

“I mean- well, why not?”

“I knew I could count on you. Bye Yang!” Renjun dips, leaving Yangyang as the only one besides Doyoung sitting in the classroom. Seeing Doyoung isn’t budging from his seat anytime soon, he takes a few more minutes to simmer in his seat and sulk about yet another rejection. When he finally gets up and walks down the steps, making it a point to ignore the only other person in the room, he swears he hears a “Good luck” escaping Doyoung’s lips. Just maybe.

☂︎

The following day, Yangyang is sitting in an empty room, waiting for Renjun to arrive from whatever meeting he has for that morning. The two cups of porridge sitting in front of him on the table are starting to cool, an indicator that Renjun is running late. He’d expected it, not because he thought Renjun wasn’t one to make it on time but because his schedule seemed _too_ full, and even got a text several minutes ago with a warning about a late arrival.

“Hey.” Yangyang sits up straight, adjusting his posture, as Renjun walks in, laptop threatening to escape his grip, half of his jacket already slipping off his shoulders and down his arms. “I didn’t think you’d be able to reserve a room.”

He blinks. “I didn’t. The room was empty.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow at him as he sets his belongings aside. “And no one’s kicked you out?”

“No.”

Renjun mutters something under his breath, but Yangyang doesn’t catch it. Not that he can’t. He just doesn’t want to. After settling into the seat across from him, Renjun finally notices the white foam containers in front of him. “Oh.”

“It’s food.”

“I know.” Renjun pulls it toward himself and peers into the bag, then looks up. “Are you kidding me?”

“Is it bad? Do you not like it? I thought everyone liked porridge. I mean, you look borderline sick and this was the first thing I thought of bringing.” He’s rambling at this point, not sure what he’s doing wrong.

“Well,” Renjun sighs, “I guess this is better than instant hotpot.”

“There’s instant hotpot?” He leans forward, excited. “Where?”

“Convenience stores.”

“A what now?”

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t been to a convenience store before.”

Yangyang sinks into his seat. “ … I don’t know what that is.”

“You… Never mind. Let’s just get to work.”

The two sit in silence as they work, papers exchanged like clockwork, as if their minds synced to switch it up. They write a section, check one another’s work, give feedback, repeat. Five rounds in, Renjun’s hands leave his laptop, reaching to the ceiling to stretch. His eyes land on Yangyang, who stares back, eyes unwavering.

“Do you really think I’m sick?” Now, Renjun’s elbow is propped up on the table, chin resting in his palm as he cocks his head to the side.

“I mean, you look tired, and it’s winter, so it’s likely you caught a cold!” Yangyang rushes to say.

“I guess.” Renjun purses his lips. “So you usually eat porridge when you’re sick?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. _No, not really_. He used to, when he was little. He’s not obligated to eat anymore, unless he is attending a meeting, which he has not done for a few centuries.

Yangyang falls back into rhythm with Renjun, the only sounds being the keyboard taps and their chasing echoes. Sort of. His gaze falls on Renjun’s eyes that are concentrated on his own device, then his lips that move in silence. He shakes his head to rid himself of the distraction, but finds his eyes on Renjun once again. With shaking hands, he pushes the paper next to him toward the other end, asking if he can get clarification. He does for a while.

Renjun’s phone goes off while he is explaining the last few bullet points to to Yangyang. He pauses to glance at the screen and grumbles, but returns to the task at hand.

“I think that’s it all for now. I’ve got to go now, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. You’ve got another meeting, right?”

“Sorry about that. The show’s in a few days so we have more meetings than usual.”

“It’s fine,” he says, dismissing it with a wave. “This must be important to you. And we can just have our meetings in our room the next time, you know. To save time.”

“I’ll take you upon that offer.” Renjun smiles, then heads off, leaving Yangyang in the room alone once again.

☂︎

The next morning, Yangyang wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder. Something he’s experienced for centuries but with a gentler touch this time.

“Go away, Kun ge. I’m not training today.”

His words are followed by a wack on the forehead, presumably with a paperback book. “I don’t know who Kun is, I have no idea what training you have, but what I do know is you have a meeting with your dear roommate in one minute, so please wake up before I dump a bucket of ice on you.”

Yangyang jolts awake, hands flailing, and accidentally hits someone’s face. When he opens his eyes properly to get a better look of who’s in front of him, he screams.

Renjun stays put, only flinching for a second before his expression softens. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. It’s just that…”

“Another meeting later?”

Renjun hums. “Go wash up. I’ll go pull up a few things while I wait.” He gives Yangyang, who is still half asleep, a pat on the back, and walks to his desk, where the desktop monitor is already up and running.

Yangyang peels the blankets off of himself and drags his body out of bed. He trudges toward the bathroom and rubs his eyes, before glancing in the mirror. His hair is sticking up in all directions, his black t-shirt standing out in the bathroom of white walls and white tiles.

Yangyang thinks of home, where only the bowls and utensils are white, but only because they were gifts from the higher ups. Kun had ordered for the doors and window frames to be painted in mahogany, and Ten had decided to tack at least one of his paintings on each wall. Their residence is anything but black and white, a contradictory statement to the rest of the grayscale scenery in the area, where everything, from plaques to lamp posts reflected their focus on yin and yang. “Bullshit,” Ten said, when someone tried to make them shake everything up and turn it back to black and white, “People only get threatened for going to hell, but not when they want to reach the heavens.” Whoever yelled at Ten that day backed off, moved away, never to be heard again.

“Yangyang?”

He blinks twice, then responds to the knock on the door. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right there.” He splashes a handful of water on his face, then dries his hands with a towel.

When he comes out, Renjun is already back in his seat, typing away. He sits in the stool Renjun placed next to him, and realizes how high he is sitting. The smug look he breaks into disappears just as fast as it had come when Renjun starts scowling. He tilts his head down to stick his tongue out, then goes back to looking at the monitor screen with Renjun.

“You stuck?”

“No!” Renjun protests. “ Maybe. Kind of. I think I put the document in the wrong folder.” He clicks a few more times. “Oh, here it is.” Yangyang watches a look of relief replace his frown, but it disappears again when sounds start playing.

His eyes fly to the screen. Everything looks normal, but he freezes. This is it. The song. The one he heard that day in the crowd. _His_ sequence. He whips his head to see Renjun with his head in his hands.

“This is so embarrassing. It was crap, right?”

“No, wait-”

“I’ve never shown it to everyone before. Well, it’s actually a slight modification of what I found a year back. And I tried finding it online but I can’t find anything, so I don’t even know where this is from.” His words are muffled, more to himself, but Yangyang hears it all.

He puts a hand on his back, running it slowly up and down in an attempt to calm him down. “Renjun, don’t worry. I thought it was great.” He doesn’t add that he thinks it sounds better than what he originally composed. “In fact, I love it.”

Renjun lifts his head up. “Really?”

Yangyang nods. “I’m serious, Renjun. It’s really good. Is it for the upcoming production?”

“No,” he says softly. “I’m working on it for fun.”

Yangyang gulps. He wants to ask to hear more of it, but he doesn’t think that will happen. Instead, he goes with, “Well, good luck with that. And the play.”

Renjun scribbles on a post-it and slaps it on Yangyang’s tablet screen. As he holds it up to his face, Yangyang finds it to be a list of items they still have to go over for their project. The first few minutes are spend trying to get the stylus pen to work, but once he gets the hang of it, he breezes through a majority of the checklist. By the end, his fingers are starting to cramp, neck and back too tight from slouching for so long. He puts everything down to take a break, making Renjun turn toward him.

“Yangyang.” Renjun stops typing and looks up from his work.

“Mm?”

“Do you want to come visit the crew tomorrow?”

“The what?”

“The people I’m working with for the play.”

“Oh- Of course! Should I bring anything?”

Renjun chuckles. “Maybe some snacks since no one ever bothers to leave their work.”

“Alright.” Yangyang gives him another pat on the back, then they both return to work.

Renjun has pulled up the correct document this time and sends a few links for him to go over. He obliges and gets to work right away on his laptop, focusing on the slides. Every ten minutes or so, he gives Renjun a slight nudge to choose pictures for the presentation, who at first rolls his eyes and dismisses the request, then gasps at what Yangyang ends up choosing without his assistance and launches into a ramble about why they shouldn’t use the said selection.

They work, for the most part, in silence. The only sounds that accompany their keyboard clacks are the occasional yells and stomps echoing throughout their floor’s hallways. They speak in whispers when they ask for one another, albeit Yangyang wanting to break into fits of giggles upon hearing Renjun trip over his words, a rare occurrence and one that certainly never happens in class.

Two hours in, Renjun starts dozing off, and Yangyang only smiles before going back to work. But as soon as he finishes typing up another blurb, he sees Renjun’s head hit his keyboard from the corner of his eye. Seeing that they are nearly done, Yangyang closes his laptop lid and sets it aside, then hovers his hand over Renjun’s head before lowering it down to stroke his hair.

“Renjun, wake up,” he whispers. “You’ve got a meeting later.”

He lets out an inaudible groan but lifts his head up anyways, mumbling a “thank you” in Yangyang’s direction, then starts packing up again. By the time he finishes, Yangyang is already back on his bed, too engrossed in his game to say anything else. He looks up to wave Renjun goodbye, and scrambles back to his desk once the door is shut. The note stuck onto his desk now reads, in smudged black ink:

_Attend the winter play production at 6PM this Saturday._

☂︎

Going to Kun for advice becomes a routine. Seeing Ten working at the kitchen counter instead of in his own room becomes normal. Except it’s a Wednesday, and last he checked, Ten’s schedule is full on Wednesdays.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching a class right now?” Yangyang asks, as he grabs a brownie from the tray Kun is holding out to him.

Ten arches an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t _you_ supposed to be in Doyoung’s class right now?”

“No class so we can work on our project.”

“Well, you’re not working on your project right now.”

“I met with my partner earlier,” Yangyang deadpans. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Because you need help.”

He swallows hard, unsure of where he should start from. “I heard it,” he finally breathes out.

“Heard what?” Kun has now set down the tray and circled to his side to offer him a seat on the stool. “Take your time, Yangyang, We’re not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” he whispers. He takes another deep breath, keeps his palms flat on the counter to prevent himself from fidgeting. “Renjun and I were working on our project this morning, right? Well, he was trying to pull up a file he wanted to send to me, but he ended up opening an audio file. It sounded exactly like what I heard that night! It has to be him, ge!” He stands up on the footrest ring of the stool in protest, almost toppling over, only to be saved by Kun who has a steady hold on his back.

As he sits back down, Kun asks, “Are you sure you heard it correctly?” He nods.

“He’s never wrong,” Ten snorts. “You know how much he’s spent on every one of his sequences, there’s no way he could get it wrong. Right, Yangyang?”

“Yeah, Kun, I know what I wrote better than anyone,” he snaps.

“I just don’t want you to-”

“Don’t listen to him, Yangyang,” Ten says. “You want to talk to Renjun, right?”

“Maybe,” he squeaks.

“Then go talk to him. You don’t have to reveal who you are, just ask him about where he got it from. Maybe he can help you find a way.”

“Without exposing my identity?”

“Without doing that,” Ten reassures him. “Kun and I will be here to back you up if anything goes wrong. Call us when you need help, and we’ll be right there.” Yangyang huffs out a long sigh. “Don’t worry, I’m serious. I wouldn’t mind if you texted me in the middle of a lecture, really. If you really can’t reach us, there’s always the others. Sicheng is free on weekdays, remember? We’re here for _you_ , Yangyang.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. “And I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

Kun shakes his head. “This isn’t a mess. It’s far from that. Don’t you think we would be doing this too if we were in the same position? Everyone understands how you feel, that’s why we’re here.”

Yangyang lets out a small chuckle. He tries to imagine someone like Sicheng flocking to a different location every week in hopes of finding inspiration, anything to regain glory. Not a chance. He tries to imagine someone like Xiaojun flying to the snowiest mountaintop just to built immunity for the freezing cold. It sounds ridiculous, and yet, they are here, all moved out of their usual residence to accompany _Yangyang_ because _he_ wants to recover his previously thriving reputation. He doesn’t think he would have it any other way.

Ten gets out of his seat to engulf him in a hug. “I know you hate hearing this, but you’re our baby. A spoiled brat, but our favorite student. Got it?”

He gives a muffled response as he relaxes into Ten’s embrace, praying in his head he’ll have this family by his side for as long as he lives. Forever happy.

☂︎

When Yangyang meets with the production crew, two days away from the day of the show, only a day after The Talk. He expects Renjun to introduce him to friendly people, which he does. What he does not anticipate is seeing Dejun talking to Renjun while he is left to mingle with the crew, none of whom he knows the names of.

He gives the girl on his left an awkward smile before heading over to the duo, who are too concentrated on whatever it is they don’t notice Yangyang standing right there for another five minutes.

“Oh, right. I’ve gotta get going,” Renjun sighs as he checks his watch. “See you later.”

Dejun grabs Yangyang by the wrist and pulls him out of the room and down the hallway, then turns into an empty room far from the crowd and ruckus.

“What are you doing here?” Yangyang jabs at his chest in accusation. “Do Guanheng and Xuxi know you’re doing this?”

“God, you’re so stupid. Of course they do.” Dejun seats himself atop one of the desks, and Yangyang follows, feet dangling and hitting against the desk leg.

“But this is so much work.”

“It’s really not.” He lets out a huff. “Blame it on the courts for making me participate in performances while you were off in Europe mingling with the mechanization-obsessed West.”

“You mean while they ignored the fact the West was invading China and tried to become a party animal.”

“Ugh, whatever. Same thing.”

Yangyang shrugs. “It’s really not. But I didn’t know they made you perform. I thought you were still at home.”

“Training? Nah, I’m too old for that. I almost got kicked out because I wasn’t being productive enough.”

This time it’s Yangyang who laughs. “If you’re not productive then what am I?”

Dejun nods in agreement. They continue discussing Dejun’s adventures with performing. Someone, at one point, tried to make him perform Peking Opera, only to discover he did not hit the vocal requirements to do so. Yangyang grins at the image already planted into his head, heavy powder caked onto his face and his eyebrows redefined into curves for a Dan role, heavy headdress decorated with beads and sequins, a shrill voice echoing throughout the hall, unlike how Xiaojun’s voice sounds, soft and delicate.

They jump into their training days, Yangyang taking over the conversation with the amount of times he upset Kun by splashing ink over his textbook instead of studying. Dejun snickers and reminds him of the numerous times Yangyang had to kneel outside and write essays of apologies. He pouts and argues the punishments made him strong under the heat.

He thinks of when his days were spilled with sparring training, taking fists to the gut like it was a clocking in ritual. Times when cuts and splinters etched onto his skin were considered normal, a routine he sought to ingrain into the rest of his life, until the day Kun taught him how to play the _guqin_ , a quiet yet vibrant instrument, simple compared to the _guzheng_.

He was ten, the youngest and shortest student residing in the Li residence. After he skipped sparring one time — that would be his first and last time — Ten kicked him out and moved all his belongings into the Qian residence. Not that he minded. Although Kun was stricter when it came to his studies, he could roam around as he pleased after hours, and was never once scolded for playing the _guqin_ in the dead of the night.

“Yangyang.” Yangyang comes face to face with Xiaojun who’s looking at him with a stern expression. “You should find something else to do while you’re here.”

“No, I’m not doing that, I have to-”

“Look.” Dejun hops off the desk and slides into the seat facing Yangyang, both hands outstretched for him to hold as he continues speaking. “I know how much you want this. We all do. That’s why we came here with you. Xuxi, Guanheng, and I, we’ve grown up with you. We know how hard this is and how hard you’ve worked all your life, but you’re going to spiral if you keep at this for too long.”

“But I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he scolds. “You’re doing fine. There’s still a shrine dedicated to you, right? Someone out there who isn’t your family remembers you.”

“Yeah, ten years ago,” he mutters. “It’s basically covered in cobwebs now because people think it’s haunted.”

“Okay, well,” Dejun sighs, “you’re still being productive. You’ve left your mark already, why aren’t you proud of that? You’ve gone through so much already, so what are you so afraid of right now?”

Yangyang blinks. What _is_ he afraid of? He has never thought himself to be someone who fears anything in particular. He always dismissed the negative comments, not because he was strong enough but because they never truly reached his ears. He was surrounded by love, from Kun, from Ten, even from Sicheng. The people he grew up with babied him, especially Xuxi and Guanheng.

Yangyang doesn’t remember much about the family he was born into. There are times when he’s taken to a building of golden furniture and grand stairs in his sleep, moments when he can feel himself as a child being held in someone’s arms, his hands reaching for a rattle drum just out of his grasp. As for faces, none have seeped into his memory. Even when a figure is next to or in front of him no facial features are shown.

“Dejun,” he says, shaking as he grips tighter onto Dejun’s hands. “They’re gone.”

“Who…?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not the point.” He stares straight into Dejun’s eyes, focus wavering as he attempts to spit out his words. “What if- what if you forget me? What if Kun forgets me? What if I walk back into the Jade Emperor’s palace and they kick me out because they can’t recognize me?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Dejun says, squeezing his hands gently in assurance. “We’ll never forget you. When we get back, you’ll be up on your feet, kicking everyone’s ass with your amazing reputation, got it?”

He gives a meek nod. “Okay,” he breathes out. “I can do this.”

Dejun reaches up to ruffle his hair. “You’ll do great. Now go chase Renjun before your time here is up.”

Yangyang points at himself in shock. “Me?” he sputters. “You do realize that’s-”

“Wrong? Illegal?”

“Um, yeah?”

He shrugs. “You can always convince him to go home with you.”

“That’s not-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. This won’t be the first time you’re breaking a law anyway. Just go.” He sighs and pushes Yangyang out of the room, knowing smile matching his little goodbye wave.

☂︎

Yangyang makes the mistake of staying up the day of the winter production’s first show, only starting to drift off as Renjun gets up in the early morning, shaking him awake as he crashes into a wall.

“Renjun,” he calls out, eyes still half closed, not even sure if it’s Renjun sticking to the wall in front of him, “you okay?”

A blurred figure moves closer to him, grabs the blankets and pulls it over Yangyang’s head. “Go to sleep, dumbass. It’s still six in the morning.”

Yangyang pushes the blankets off his head. “No.”

The other inches closer and sits on the edge of the bed, dipping ever so slightly with his added weight.

“No? Try me.” Renjun’s hand flies to his shoulder, then pushes him back down onto the bed. “You need sleep.”

“I really don’t,” Yangyang argues. “Look, I’m fine. See?” He lifts himself up and leans forward, bumping his forehead against Renjun’s.

“What are you- See what?” Renjun sighs. He keeps still, locking gazes with Yangyang. “Hm, what am I supposed to see?”

He points to his own face. “I don’t have any dark circles!”

Renjun giggles. “You’re right,” he says as he cups Yangyang’s face. “You look like you’re glowing. But you should still go to sleep. I’ll wake you up in an hour before I leave.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he soothes, fingers intertwining with Yangyang’s, other hand moving to ease him back into bed. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, gently stroking his hair.

Yangyang falls asleep right away.

As promised, Renjun wakes him up an hour later, this time with more urgency. “Hurry up and go brush your teeth.”

“I- what the hell-” Yangyang groans as Renjun yanks him out of bed and pushes him into the bathroom.

He frowns as Renjun eyes him through the mirror, never once breaking eye contact. Even as the toothpaste drips down his chin and onto the bathroom counter, his gaze fixed on Renjun.

“Oh fuck,” Yangyang sputters as he finally feels the toothpaste make a dripping mess on his chin. Renjun snickers and just holds out a handkerchief for him after he finishes rinsing. He takes it and wipes his mouth, then throws it onto the counter. “I’ll wash it later. Now, tell me why you want me to brush my teeth now of all-”

Renjun grabs his shirt in a fistful and pulls him close, connecting their lips. Yangyang’s hands fly to cup his face, as if they were magnets, as if every part of him is meant to be attached to Renjun. Their footsteps take them farther from the bathroom, and Yangyang’s head bumps against the wall. Renjun takes reign, pressing him against the wall, the tips of their noses brushing past as he angles his face the other day. By the time they break apart, Renjun’s previously combed hair is a tad messy, and Yangyang feels his cheeks heating up as the realization dawns upon him.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Renjun pants.

“Europe,” he shrugs, just as breathless as Renjun is.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I wish I was though.”

The Europe is half of a lie. His first kiss was not in Europe, but he probably did kiss more in the few decades he traveled around in Europe than in his entire life prior to his long-term trip of soul-searching. His time in Europe felt more like a vacation than anything else, and Yangyang had treated it as nothing less.

“I can’t believe you didn’t back away,” Renjun mutters, almost inaudible that Yangyang barely catches it.

“Hm? Why would you think that?” he asks, hands dropping to Renjun’s waist and pulling him closer.

“Because…” Renjun pauses. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” he starts, “don’t think too much about it. We can talk about this after the shows are over.”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye,” he cheers. He ushers him out the door and throws a scarf at him. “Keep warm.”

☂︎

The crowd at the front of the ampitheatre is huge. Yangyang expected it to be packed. According to Chenle, it’s the biggest event of the year, especially because it’s held a few days before the break and is another way for everyone to celebrate New Year’s at school, something rarely done for a holiday traditionally meant for family reunions.

He takes a seat next to Kun, who would not leave his side for fear of Yangyang causing a ruckus. Even though the bad habit has long been abandoned, he appreciates his efforts to continue taking care of him.

Yangyang has never been one to back down from a fight. There were times when he would dash onto building roofs in the middle of the city just to continue fights, despite being only an amateur swordsman. He has definitely crashed a few market stands throughout his lifetime, which resulted in being sent on extra missions that led to more unnecessary fights.

Now, he walks with more grace, head held high even though he knows he’s rarely welcomed by his supposed peers, besides the ones he’s lived with, of course. He blends in with the public, trying his best to adjust with the current climate. His attire, although battered down at times, contributes to the happiness he finds in people not noticing him as he walks the streets. He _does_ want attention, but not where people can pounce onto him at first sight.

What he _does_ want is a shining temple, swept on a daily basis, with a sprinkle of loyal visitors throughout the day. Enough people that want to ask him for help. The slight burn of incense wafting within the walls of the area, even if it isn’t the grandest place. Yes, he wants walls, mainly so he can avoid people trying to destroy the place with randomly picked up rocks in broad daylight. He would rather deal with traitors who “accidentally” leave the doors unlocked or not-so-sneaky trespassers scaling the walls. A much easier problem when there is an extra barrier for them to pass through.

In the opening scene, four villagers in rags are chased by someone with a monster’s head and two other people following with a cloth of yellow draped over their bodies. The creature, _Nian_ , catches up to the villagers, who screech and run off the stage, then strolls to the center, mask painted with a gleeful expression as they face the audience.

The legend of _Nian_ gave birth to how the Lunar New Year is celebrated, be it 500 years ago or now. The monster’s fear of loud noises and the color red gave way to a new era of celebration. Yangyang smiles at the selection, a fitting one for the upcoming holidays. The constant beating of drums and cymbals amplifies as their echoes bounce off the walls, an eruption of cheers exploding from the audience. 

Yangyang spots Dejun near the back. He’s dressed in a set of plain robes, blander than Yangyang has ever seen him wear. A snickers escapes Yangyang’s lips, and he’s elbowed on the right by Kun, who tells him to shush and enjoy the show.

The villagers are gathered in the middle of the night outside their houses, huddled in a discussion as they plan to ambush _Nian_ once and for all. A note of _guqin_ rings throughout the room while everyone sits in silence, as if they were all statues composing a garden. It opens in a solem manner, notes quiet. As it escalates, the beat faster, the performers onstage ride the rush of the dancing notes in the form of a rapid march. Yangyang grips the edge of his seat, heart threatening to jump out of his chest. He’s meters away from the stage itself, the performs, even the live Chinese orchestra, yet he feels like he could physically touch the notes as long as he reaches his hand out. A part of him almost wants to dive into the music.

 _Nian_ becomes a fallen monster, never to be seen again. The curtains close, then open up again, and the performers are now lined up in a uniform bow. The standing ovation doesn’t seem to stop or even simmer down, yet Yangyang is still latched to his seat like his life depends on it. He feels the rush of adrenaline running through his veins, something he hasn’t felt in centuries.

As soon as the lights come fading in Yangyang is out of his seat and down the hallway, Kun and Ten long forgotten. His eyes dart around, searching, searching, and searching… Ah.

“Hey, you did great,” Yangyang waves, even though he is meters away from Renjun. There is a crowd surrounding him, people of different heights, all dressed in strictly black attire. One of them is holding a bamboo flute, and that’s when it dawns on him. Those are the musicians who played live for the show. They part, making way for him to reach Renjun.

“You actually made it.” Renjun pulls away from the crowd and leads Yangyang into a less crowded space, away from the passerbys and celebration ruckus.

“I did.” Yangyang chuckles, immediately pulling Renjun in by the waist, bumping foreheads lightly. “Of course I did.”

Renjun lets out a heavy sigh. “Did you like it?”

“What do you think?” A playful smile spreads across Yangyang’s face. “I think you know.”

“Just… checking. Just in case.” Renjun presses a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’m glad you did.”

Yangyang pulls away, just a few centimeters, and brushes a few strands of Renjun’s hair to the side. “Do you wanna share your inspiration?” He asks, in part out of curiosity, in part because he thinks _he_ has been inspired by the setlist.

Renjun looks at him, seemingly searching for an answer from his gaze. “Maybe next week.”

Yangyang pulls him into a tight hug following the response, neck buried into the crook of his neck. That’s good enough of an answer for him.

☂︎

Yangyang wakes up to a bundle of leaves tickling his face, head resting in comfort. Renjun is carding his fingers through his hair with one hand, other holding his phone.

“You slept a long time. Seconds after you told me you liked my story,” Renjun protests. “Were you lying?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” He opens one eye to peer at Renjun, squinting as the sunlight hits his eyes.

Renjun pauses to think. “Never.”

“See?” He grins as Renjun presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Yangyang is telling the truth. Renjun’s story was good, maybe too good. By the end of it, his head was spiraling, and the overload of thinking lulled him to sleep in a flash. He blames Renjun for exciting him with the story. To learn that he still has a follower is enough to keep him euphoric for the next few decades. What extends the decades to centuries is that, of all people, it’s Renjun, having been influenced by his father, who decided to search for his compositions.

Yangyang badly wants to yell at Renjun and tell him the god no one else knows about is right in front of him. On his lap. But he can’t. That is something he has to hide from Renjun.

Consequences are consequences. By taking risks, stealing kisses from Renjun whenever there is a chance chance and holding him in a warm embrace for as long as possible, Yangyang is already made a sacrifice. He is partly stripped of his god status, the powers that help keep him alert. Humanizing as a result of it. He considers this a last chance before he finally gets back up on his feet. The ultimate gamble that will regrant his status as one of the famed and respected gods known for achieving immortality at a young age.

Yangyang swallows before spitting out his question. “What happened to your father?” Whether this is a sensitive topic or not for Renjun, he doesn’t know. His voice carries a ring to it as he touches upon it, yet his words leave traces of hesitance and an abundance of sighs that follows each time he speaks.

“Oh, he’s just…” Renjun keeps his eyes locked on the scenery in front of them. 

“Renjun?” He sits up, playfully bumping his shoulder against Renjun’s to make him talk.

“Sorry,” Renjun says. “I guess I’m a little upset at him.”

“Why? Isn’t he the reason you’re at this school studying music?” He picks a leaf out of Renjun’s hair.

“Yeah, but he gave up. At some point, he said the God of Festive Music didn’t exist. He’s crazy.” Renjun sighs in defeat and falls back, letting his back meet the grass.

Yangyang’s gaze softens. “You can’t say he’s crazy. Most of the people, especially in the city, don’t believe in gods. They don’t think dieties are real, and they don’t feel there’s a need to rely on them.”

“But he _gave up_ , you know. Honestly, it probably would have been fine if he never believed in it in the first place. But he did! He talked about waking up at five in the morning, before the sun was fully out, to visit the temple. He said he spent his weekends there just to clean the place up.”

“Where?” Yangyang sits up, ears alert. He is sure he would have been able to sense a temple dedicated to him.

“The temple. I mean, it’s been abandoned for quite a few decades, but no one ever took it down. That place wasn’t completely mechanized at the time.”

Yangyang feels his excitement grow. He’s on the edge, hoping to get an answer.

“Not that anyone has ever gone in there,” Renjun scoffs. “At least, I can’t remember. I was four or five the last time I saw it, then I moved.”

“Would you go back?”

Renjun shakes his head. “It’s probably been taken down and replaced by some skyscraper building. It wasn’t in a secluded area or on the foothill, so it’s most likely gone. I don’t want to get my hopes up by going there.”

“And if you try?”

“I’m not going,” he insists. “I think I’ve given up on finding the music. I have scraps of what Yangyang wrote, that’s all I need. I’ll make a name out of myself with my own work.”

Yangyang winces at the name. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Me too.”

He wraps his arms around Renjun’s waist and pulls him toward his chest. “And I’m glad you believe in yourself.”

Renjun, who relaxes into his embrace, turns his head ever so slightly to look Yangyang in the eye. “Why are you so sappy today?”

He stares back, trying to come up with an answer. “Because I like it when you’re happy,” he finally coos.

Renjun fake gags at his words. “Please never say that again.”

He laughs. “Alright, I’ll stop.”

But Yangyang does like it when Renjun is happy. He enjoys hearing about his passions. He likes to listen to his voice, even when it’s filled to the brim with urgency instead of being coated with edge yet a sprinkle of joy. His eyes light up whenever he gets excited, such as when he talks about the play. Yangyang gets that the production always brings Renjun so much stress, but he also has the most fun working for it.

The other thing that makes him so happy is, of course, the acknowledgment of his existence. Not as Liu Yangyang, the fourth-year student, the roommate, the classmate, but as Yangyang, God of Festive Music, someone who was celebrated so often his banners, his works were everywhere. Famed to the point where there were temples built for him in each city.

But now? They are all gone. At first, they were replaced by other temples for other gods. Sometimes, they didn’t even tear it down, just tore off the sign of sloppy glittered and gold calligraphy, then replaced it with one of an identical design, the only difference being the actual words etched onto it. He found it offensive. When he complained to the higher ups, he was met with nothing more than a wave of a hand and guards seeing his way out.

Renjun, of all people, makes him happy. Or he never really got the chance to become close to someone, which is why his first close relationship has led to… whatever it is he has at the moment. Long, warm embraces at night, sleeping in one bed with Renjun with his arm draped over his stomach because he can. And because it’s still cold. It’s no longer snowing, but he much prefers hugging Renjun to sleep over wearing four layers to keep warm in bed.

“Yangyang.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t you think it’s funny that your name is written exactly like the god I look up to?”

He pretends to think. “Maybe, considering that you like me. But I’ve never really talked about it with my parents, surprisingly. And they never mentioned it.”

“Really? I thought most people at least ask their parents where they got their name from even if they don’t get an answer.”

He shrugs. “I guess, but they were quite busy. Didn’t really have time to sit down at a dinner table and ask.”

He isn’t exactly lying. He _did_ want to ask, but the day he was going to, they were slaughtered in war. A shudder travels through him, and he has to shake it away to forget.

“You alright? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s fine. I miss them, that’s all,” he croaks. “It’s been a while since I last saw them.”

“I’m sorry,” Renjun whispers, leaning forward to move Yangyang’s head onto his shoulder. “I’m here for you, okay? You now have me to rely on.”

Yangyang weakly nods into his chest, hands clutching the hem of Renjun’s sweater. For the first time in his life, he feels like crying his heart out, to relieve himself of the emotional pain he’s been holding back. Instead, he sobs silently, teardrops falling at snail speed. When he opens his eyes, they’re raining down, dribbling past his chin and onto the bedsheets, dampening the space between his crosslegged self.

☂︎

It turns out that Renjun does not take his own breaks, only the obligated break following New Year’s. Yangyang didn’t message him during that time, for fear of disrupting his vacation. He deserved a relaxing break.

Except, he did not get a relaxing break. The day he comes trudging back into the dorm, he complains to Yangyang about the next play production, which is for June 5th. That is almost three months away.

“How are you supposed to compose if you don’t even know what story you’re doing?”

“Exactly! That’s why I’m so stressed. They have _nothing_. I can work with even just an idea so I can compose a couple of measures, but what do I get? Nothing. ‘Are you doing another Chinese folktale? Are we going with a Western fable this time? Is someone writing a completely original story?’ I asked so many questions but none of them were answered.”

“If it falls on the day of the Dragon Boat Festival, wouldn’t you do something related to the holiday…” Yangyang trails off.

“You want to do some retelling of Qu Yuan where he _doesn’t_ dive into the river and die for the honor of his country?”

Yangyang sighs. Renjun is right. The most fitting story for the Dragon Boat Festival is the story of Qu Yuan, but considering how long the school has been around and how the story ends, there are far fewer ways to create a retelling. He cannot even recommend the story of Wu Zixu because he meets the same end as Qu Yuan.

“Anyways, I suggested they do something related to lanterns. For all I care, the lanterns could be possessed by demons. I just need _something_ to work with.”

He hums and pats the empty seat on his bed. “Come here, don’t just stand around all day and sulk about what you can’t do. Take this time to think about other things.”

Renjun obliges, head immediately falling onto Yangyang’s shoulder. “It’s hard to think about something else when my main focus has always been on the play productions. I just wish I could do something.”

“Well, can’t you work on the project you started a while ago?”

“Yeah, but I might get too caught up in it and forget about the play production. What if they suddenly message me tonight with an idea? Then I have to arrange a meeting with the others tomorrow to discuss our plans going forward. And I’ll probably be cranky because composing is hard, and it’s even harder because I get less than three months. I can’t just give it to the orchestra on the last day. That would be unfair. And probably embarrassing,” Renjun adds in a mutter.

“Mm but this is an art school, so I guess it isn’t that weird to make the students compose the music. At least you’re not conducting. I can imagine you yelling at them out of frustration.”

“You know me so well,” he mutters.

“Of course I do. It’s not like I pay much attention to anyone else.” He gulps. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Thank you,” Renjun whispers. He lifts his head up and puts a hand to Yangyang’s cheek, slowly turning his head for their lips to meet. “You’re the only one keeping me sane right now.”

Yangyang chuckles. “Wouldn’t it be more romantic to say I drive you insane like nobody else does?” He leans forward for another kiss.

Renjun breaks away for a moment, mumbling, “It has a bad connotation,” before returning to the kiss, this time deeper and more rushed.

The kiss pulls at their weight, and soon Yangyang falls back onto the mattress, pulling Renjun down with him. One hand travels to the back of Renjun’s neck and presses down gently, little by little until Renjun is completely on top of him, every part of their bodies pressed against one another. He closes his eyes, drowning in the fuzzy yet dizzying sensation, until his brain drifts too far, into the land of overthinking.

Yangyang pushes Renjun off of him and sits up. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“What if I join your team?”

“My team? What team- Oh! You want to compose?”

Yangyang gives an eager nod. “I wanna try.”

“You’re not scared of me being biased?”

“Nope, I know you. You’re probably gonna be extra harsh.” He gives a teasing lopsided grin, expectant of a complaint about to shoot straight at him.

Renjun grumbles. “You can read me so well but you make me sound like the devil.”

Yangyang snickers. “You’re indeed the devil.”

“That’s cursed. I don’t think God Yangyang wants to meet a devil.”

“You have me,” he whines. “Forget about him. Pay attention to me.”

Instead of giving a direct response, Renjun pushes Yangyang back onto the bed and snuggles in his chest. “I’ll leave you instructions. Go to sleep now.”

“Okay,” he replies. His hand travels to Renjun’s, taking it in his own to place on his chest. _Like this_ , he thinks. _I want my forever to be like this_.

☂︎

The next morning, when Yangyang wakes up, Renjun has already left the dorm, presumably for a team meeting. Instead, he finds a ripped up notepad paper taped onto his forehead, and he yanks it off, slightly crumpling the piece of paper in the process.

_Compose a song based on any poem you find inspiring. It can be anywhere from 30 seconds to 2 minutes. We just need a sample, that’s all._

_Put the final composition into a USB drive._

_Bring the USB drive to the front of the theatre at 3:00 P.M. this Friday. Please wait outside for someone to take you in._

_P.S. Don’t stress out too much. Just try your best._

Oh, but he’s already stressed. All he has ever known is his own music, the ones that have been played at festivals, the ones that people use to sing praise. Now he has to find a way to compose well without exposing his musical style, which is a recipe for disaster, especially given the short amount of time he has to finish it. He has exactly six days. It doesn’t sound like a lot but he also has to work on the project for Doyoung’s class and finish all his homework. A terrible combination, truly.

☂︎

The thing about composing for Renjun and his team isn’t the composing part. It’s the poem that’s bugging his mind. He has racked his brain for days, trying to find one that would suit his festive tendencies, when most poems are about the moon and the yearning of home, if not already done so through the symbolism of a full moon. He has, once again, landed himself at the elders’ place, helping himself to a plate of crackers as he takes a break from his internet surfing adventure of poems.

“You’re a lost cause, Yangyang.” Kun sighs and shakes his head as he pours him a cup of tea. “Here, drink this. Doyoung said it helps calm the mind.”

He picks it up and looks at the teacup with a disturbed and questioning look, nose scrunching when he places it right under his nose to get a sniff. “Are you sure? This seems more distracting than calming.”

Kun nods. “I’m positive about its effect. I made Ten try it the other day when he was talking about the dance showcase.” He pours another cup of tea and sets it down in front of himself. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He just really wanted to help Sicheng, and it seems like he’s taken a liking to some of his students.”

“I mean, if you say so…” Yangyang winces as he takes a sip. “Oh, it tastes like _biluochun_. Not bad.”

“Told you. Now why did you come here again? You should be lucky I’m usually in here instead of the office, or you would have wasted so many trips walking here.”

“Well… Renjun knows about God Yangyang.” Kun’s eyes widen. “Wait no, he doesn’t know _I_ am God Yangyang. But he knows of him.” His mentor’s shoulders relax, relief washing over his face as Yangyang continues. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

“It depends.”

“Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Yes, but it applies to a lot of things in our lives.”

He shrugs and continues, this time talking about what they had done on their day off. He shares what they did, eyes flickering to Kun’s every few seconds to seek for approval as he attempts to ramble on. It’s hard trying to read his own mentor, even though they’ve known each other for centuries. Kun, as expressive as he can be, is also one of the most level-headed people he’s met. When he wants to wear his emotions on his sleeve, he does. When he wants to conceal his feelings with a gentle smile, he can do it without batting an eye.

“Yangyang, stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He blinks, breaking out of his trance he had just dove into.

“You’re trying too hard to read people. Don’t, it doesn’t work. Besides, you look visibly stressed.”

“So much for having known you for this long.”

Kun breaks into a wider smile. “You do it better when you aren’t thinking too much about it. Save this energy for some other time.”

“For what? Not like I need to read anyone, I just want to.”

“What about when you tell Renjun who you are? And when you have to leave?”

“No, no, no. I am _not_ telling him anything.”

“You’re telling me kissing him and sleeping on a bed with him without saying anything else is going to be better?”

“He’s aiming for bigger things!” Yangyang protests. “I”m just gonna make himself more stressed. Plus, he probably wouldn’t want to be tied down by a relationship. I can’t even stay by his side if I were a mortal, so how am I supposed to do that when I’m like this?” This, being his godly yet loser status, the results of his consecutive failures that blocked him from ever stepping into a zone of confidence again. There were times he felt like he was nothing but an empty body, and not even the ones around him could sway him to think otherwise.

“Yangyang,” Kun warns. “You’re going to hurt him. Even if you aren’t labeled as lovers, you’re going to hurt him as a friend. Do you really want to do that? If you don’t say anything, he will hate it even more. At least, if you say something, he’s given the reason.”

“But that means I have to leave! You know that’s the rule. I don’t want to leave,” he says, voice low and on the verge of breaking.

Kun sighs. “I know you want to, but the longer you stay, the more attached you become and the harder it is to leave. You’re letting your lies build up. Sooner or later, these lies will be exposed, and you’ll have to face more than what you can deal with right now.”

“No, no, no. I’m just going to leave quietly at the end of the semester. Ge, can’t I do that?” His eyes are pleaing, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter hard. “Just a few more months and I’ll go back home.”

“Not home. Up,” Kun scolds.

“Up,” he echoes, an absentminded nod following. “That’s right. I have to go up before I go home.”

He flicks the teacup toward Kun. “I’ll be going into my room to work now.” His head is down as he trudges down the hallway, slippers sliding and scraping against the hardwood floor.

“Remember to wipe your desk! It’s been accumulating dust!” Kun yells after him, command bouncing off the walls, traveling loud and clear into his ears.

Yangyang ignores him and shuts the door behind him. As soon as his back hits the bed, his eyes closed. When his thoughts swim toward his shore of worries, he kicks them away and shuts them out. He falls asleep when he finishes them off.

☂︎

Yangyang knocks on the door and comes face to face with Dejun, who only quirks an eyebrow at him before inviting him inside. Xuxi is frying eggs while Hendery is setting up the table. The chandelier that hangs above the dining table glows white, far too bright for Yangyang’s liking.

“Eat up.” Guanheng places a bowl of steamed white rice in front of him and scoops a spoonful of egg drop soup into another. “The only time you’ll get to eat white rice,” he winks.

Yangyang scowls. He refuses to admit how true it is. Back at home, he usually eats with Kun, who feeds him purple and white rice cooked together, paired with lightly salted vegetables and stewed meat. This, he counts as a sacrifice for the sake of quieter studies. If it’s been days since he’s visited the Li residence, no one questions it. They assume he has been working. Only Kun knows of his crying sessions, and he knows Yangyang hates it when he tries to talk him through it. To compensate, he leaves porridge for him, a cure that heals both his mental and physical state.

“Nervous?” Dejun takes a seat next to him. He shuts his eyes and puts a palm to the edge of the table. Four pair of chopsticks fly in his direction, hovering for a few seconds above the table before landing with a slight clang onto the bowls.

“That’s cheating,” Yangyang protests. “You told me I can’t use any of my energy to do chores while I’m at school.”

“Walking around the table to place the chopsticks on every bowl is a hassle.”

“You told me to adjust to the environment we’re living in!”

“Yeah, because you live with a mortal. If you try anything out of the ordinary while sneaking around, you’re bound to get caught.”

Yangyang stabs his chopsticks straight into the bowl. He looks up to see Guanheng give him a disapproving look and only then does he take them out. His constant grumbling as he picks at the food with his utensils leads to a strawberry-scented Xuxi engulfing him in a hug from behind. Damn Xuxi and his love for strawberries to the point that he buys strawberries, even when they aren’t in season.

“We’re glad to have you around. You should come visit more often!”

Dejun scoffs. “No thanks. That’s more people to cook for.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not inviting you to my house next time!”

“Your house? That’s not even your house, that’s Kun’s house.”

“Fine then- I-” Yangyang sputters. “When I build my new house I’m inviting everyone except you!”

Guanheng sighs. “Just eat. You can throw insults later without putting the bowls in danger.”

They don’t stop. Dejun and Yangyang go back and forth, with Guanheng trying to stop them at first then ignoring the chaos happening at the dinner table as he finishes up his portion. Xuxi just laughs along once in a while, then stops upon realizing Dejun and Yangyang won’t stop pestering him to take sides.

“So, are you nervous?”

“About?”

“Tomorrow.”

“How did you-”

“Renjun put me on the judging committee.”

“He knows we’re friends.”

Dejun shrugs. “He knows I won’t be biased. Complimented my taste in music too.” He smirks knowingly, which causes Yangyang to turn his nose up in the other direction.

“I don’t care.”

“Whatever you say, lover boy.”

“I am not!” Yangyang huffs and chucks a spoon at Dejun. It hits his face. In no time, Dejun is out of his seat, holding Yangyang in a chokehold as Guanheng scrambles to pull the two apart and Xuxi stands on the opposite of the table with a phone in his hand, giggles excessive yet hearwarming.

Guanheng’s efforts fail, and Xuxi has his phone up for another two minutes, recording ready for Kun and Ten to view with a mere click of a button.

☂︎

“It’s good.” Renjun sits with his brows furrowed, pen tucked snuggly behind his ear.

Yangyang gulps. For someone complimenting his work, Renjun looks way too stern and uptight. Everyone else in the room starts talking in hushed voices, a few glancing in Yangyang’s direction and giving a nod of approval. Next to him, Dejun pats his knee and sneaks in a thumbs up.

Renjun scribbles something into his notepad, then dismisses the others in the room. He sits obediently as they file out of the room one by one, until not even Dejun is in the room.

Once everyone has left, Renjun pats at the empty space on the floor. “Come here.” Yangyang does, and Renjun immediately snuggles his face into his arm. “You did great. Beyond my expectations,” he says, voice muffled.

Yangyang leans his head on Renjun’s and lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear. I really thought I was going to get yelled at.”

Renjun looks up, face now close to Yangyang’s. “Don’t say that about yourself. I’d be surprised if someone didn’t like your work.”

Yangyang hums. No other words are exchanged, and the remaining hour is spent in silence on the carpeted floor, all devices except for Renjun’s phone now off. It plays a melody that resonates throughout the room, the _guqin_ sound bouncing like raindrops on the pound surface. They are lulled to sleep, hands linked and backs against the wall, far away from the responsibilities and frustrations constantly chasing them.

☂︎

Yangyang rushes into the meeting room, one minute late. Renjun glares at him, before returning to the circle of people he’s sitting with. He sets his bag on one of the desks pushed against the wall, then squeezes into the circle between Renjun and Dejun. Dejun throws him a stack of papers, which he catches in his left hand. When Renjun pinches his inner right thigh, he bites the inside of his mouth, one hand on Dejun as he tries to keep himself sitting up straight.

“Dismissed. Let’s split off into groups of three.” Everyone else gets up, migrating to different corners of the room. “Yangyang, stay here.” He stands up, shutting the door behind him as he exits.

Yangyang’s eyes don’t leave the door, but he leans back to whisper to Xiaojun, “Where is he going?”

“Probably yelling at the scriptwriters,” Dejun replies. “He’s been quite agitated since we haven’t really gotten anything.”

“Still?”

“Well, they did something,” Dejun snorts. “It’ll be Chinese folklore again.”

“That’s helpful,” Yangyang comments. Not that he thinks it is.

Dejun shrugs. “Maybe he’ll negotiate something out of today’s talk. He’s been trying every day for the past week.”

“That sounds terrible,” he notes.

“You’re right. Now, let’s see what other music you brought with you today?”

Yangyang’s eyes flicker back and forth between Dejun and the bag he brought. “Here? Now?”

“That’s what we’re here for.” Dejun takes his earbuds out of his hoodie pocket and untangles them. “Not like I have anywhere else to be at the moment, and Renjun did say I was a welcomed guest to all the meetings.”

“Fine,” Yangyang mutters. He fumbles for his laptop, careful to take it out of its case without breaking the zipper. As soon as he finishes setting up, they are faced with a screen of folders Yangyang has organized, many with labels as a series of numbers. Yangyang only input dates on the day he created the files, not even remembering which is which. He clicks on one of the documents, which opens up in a new application.

Dejun inserts the headphone jack into its place, and Yangyang clicks play. He turns to look at Dejun, who shoots him a smile, nodding along as the beat continues. “It’s pretty good.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better.” He crosses his arms in annoyance, chin held up in the other direction.

“Yes and no. Encouragement is what you need right now, but it’s not like I’m lying. This is what you’ve been working on your whole life! Of course you’re good at this.”

Yangyang’s shoulder shrink. “Then why does no one use my music? Why is it gone? Why don’t people know me anymore?”

“It’s because they haven’t heard this before. If they did, they would be celebrating in no time?”

Yangyang grips one of Dejun’s sleeves, a serious look on his face as he stares him straight in the eye. “What if we hijack a speaker system in the city?”

“What- No! That’s not even legal.”

“It’s worth a try.”

“No, there are plenty of other ways to go about this. Now go back to work before Renjun comes in and sees you talking instead of working.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes but does anyways. Indeed, when Renjun comes back, the first thing he does is walk to the chattiest group and scold them. They quickly scramble for the papers, apologies spilling out of their mouths as they rush to work on what they have been assigned. Renjun moves to a trio on the opposite side of the classroom that is too immersed into conversation, only freezing when Renjun’s shadow looms over them. They too, rush to straighten out their workspace.

When he finally arrives in front of Yangyang and Dejun, the angry and annoyed expression on his face is replaced with an exhausted look. Dejun hands him a bottle of water. Yangyang holds his hand out for Renjun and tugs, urging him to sit down next to him. Renjun does, keeping their hands held together as he gets comfortable.

“How did it go?” Dejun is the first to speak up. “Any progress?”

“Yeah, I got something, but it was too vague.” Renjun sighs, his eyes focused on the carpet in front of him. “They said we aren’t doing a retelling of a folktale this time around. They want to write an original story.” He looks at Yangyang in desparation, eyes full of worry.

“But that’s gr- Oh. Oh.” It’s all he can manage to say. This must be burdensome for Renjun. There is just a little under three months to compose and rehearse, and considering the amount of compositions they might have to go through before they can finalize their setlist, it is a lot. An original story means they have less time for refining, less time for organizing in case things might go wrong.

Dejun coughs. “I have an idea, but I don’t think the orchestra will be too happy.”

Renjun gives him a questioning look.

“Write solos and duets, then make people within the orchestra audition. I know it means less people will get the chance to perform, but you can save stress on the rehearsal end, and it’s easier to cater your refinings to one person instead of a whole group of people.”

Renjun nods in approval. “That’s a good idea actually. I’ll have to think about it, but I will probably bring it up before I dismiss everyone.” He turns to Yangyang. “You got any compositions for solos?”

Yangyang chokes, only saved by the water bottle not having touched his lips yet. Otherwise, his laptop would be doomed. “Yeah, I do actually. It’s a bit rough but I have a few saved.”

“Show me.” Sharp, curt, very Renjun, and yet, Yangyang still flinches. He has never heard such a tone from Renjun in close proximity. Renjun is scary when he gets to work, especially when it’s related to the play productions. When they worked on their project, Renjun was never this strict, but that could also be because they were partners whereas Renjun has more authority over Yangyang as the person who calls the shots on the setlist, even holding enough power to discuss changes with the conductor.

Yangyang exits out of the file he opened earlier, and navigates through his documents for a few seconds before getting to the folder with all the single instrument compositions. “It’s _guqin_ , but it’s a bit short.”

“That’s fine. Just give it to me.” Yangyang hands Renjun his laptop, then watches as Renjun stretches his legs out and puts it on his lap. “Earbuds?” He holds out a hand, and Yangyang rushes to grab it from Dejun’s grasp and place it in Renjun’s. “Thanks.”

Yangyang only hums in response. He leans forward to help Renjun navigate the buttons on his laptop, then scoots back, one hand fidgeting while the other searches the hem of Dejun’s shirt just to fist it in his hands and prevent himself from shaking out of fear. Dejun slaps his arm lightly, presumably annoyed at the lack of a warning, but makes no further effort to remove his hand.

Yangyang examines Renjun’s facial expressions. Or lack thereof. His eyes flicker to the laptop screen, where the bar has reached near the end. No reaction at all. There are too many possibilities about this going wrong, all of which Yangyang refuses to think about. He convinces himself Renjun is just too immersed in the music, not that he dislikes it or anything.

☂︎

Lunches with his newfound friends are a rare occurrence, especially when Yangyang prefers staying in the dorm. If not, he always visits Kun or Dejun. Lunch with Chenle is something else, especially when it is just the two of them.

For one, Chenle does not shut up. He also does not need to take many breaths when he talks, which means he could probably talk for an hour straight, with one or two ater breaks in between. He rambles on about Professor Jung’s class, which Yangyang usually falls asleep in. Then he moves onto Jisung, elated that his Mandarin speaking skills are improving.

The other thing about Chenle is that he is capable of dissing anyone. Even Yangyang, who he has held a proper conversation with maybe three times max. He understands the constant jabs at Renjun because they have known each other since Chenle entered the school, but he wonders how Chenle has come up with a diss at all. Maybe he shouldn’t have exposed that much information about himself.

“I’m telling you, Yangyang, become a Stephen Curry fan! If you watch Dame Lillard, you’re basically watching one man play against five in a game of basketball. That’s no fun.”

Yangyang crosses his arms. “I _am_ a fan of Stephen Curry. It’s just that I like Damian Lillard more now.”

Chenle groans. “At least you like the Lakers, I guess. Can’t really laugh at you about that.”

“That’s right. The Lakers are amazing,” Yangyang huffs.

Even after Chenle acknowledges Yangyang’s favorite basketball team, he doesn’t stop. He goes on to diss Lillard’s mixtapes, which sparks a series of protests from Yangyang. It’s his turn to prove Chenle wrong, and he pulls his phone out, then makes Chenle listen along to the mixtapes with him.

When they finish, Chenle grumbles and sighs in defeat as he throws the earbud back at Yangyang. “Fine, I’ll admit it, it wasn’t that bad. But not the best.”

“He’s not even my favorite rapper or anything. Just shut up,” Yangyang groans.

Chenle grins from ear to ear. “That means I’ve won our argument.”

“What-”

“Anwyays,” Chenle cuts in. “How’s Renjun doing? He texts me once in a while to tell me he’s doing fine, but he’s always doing… not super fine. Enough to not get sick, I guess, but not exactly good.”

“He’s definitely tired, but I think this is his usual. Maybe a little more stressed out than usual, but it doesn’t seem that bad.”

“That’s good,” Chenle comments. “He’s always more worried about the play productions than his grades. Well, not that he really has to worry about his grades since he does do well in all of his classes. I just hope he’s doing fine. I want to visit him at the dorm, but most of the times he’s not even there. And when he is, he always says to not disturb him because he’s working so I don’t want to intrude…”

“It’s alright. At least he’s eating all his meals.”

Chenle’s eyes widen. “All?”

Yangyang nods in glee. “And at the same time every day.”

“Not like, at two in the morning, right?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “Normal times.”

“That’s…”

“Unbelievable?”

“He’s growing up,” Chenle cries dramatically. “I can’t believe he’s eating _any_ meal at a normal time.” He reaches over to hold both of Yangyang’s hands in his. “Thank you so much for your hard work.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” He slowly retracts his hands. “I didn’t really do anything, I think.”

“Oh, but you did,” Chenle grins. “You’ll know soon, it’s only about time.”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Yangyang mutters, just out of Chenle’s earshot. At least, he hopes.

“I’m serious though. He’s always put too much time and energy into school and his plans for the future. It’s nice to see a change for once. I’m not saying he shouldn’t think about those,” he rushes to say. “But I’m glad he’s taking care of himself now.”

Yangyang doesn’t know what else to say, but it feels like he has to say something. “Cool,” he ends up saying. It sounds like a horrible response.

“Renjun dreams big. He wants to someday compose a nationally renowned soundtrack for a movie or a live show,” Chenle says. “I think it’s cool, and I think he can make it. I just hope he doesn’t lose sight of what he’s been wanting to do in the process of all this.”

“Right.” Yangyang remembers being told about those dreams. Renjun had said it with so much confidence that day, Yangyang couldn’t help but think he should do the same. Dream big, be confident. He wonders when he lost those.

Chenle looks at him in concern. “You okay?”

Yangyang’s head snaps up. “Yeah, I’m… fine,” he says, trying to put a smile back on his face.

“Well, that’s good. Anyways, I hope you take good care of Renjun. He seems to really like you.” Yangyang ignores the last statement, instead focusing on his new given “task.” He nods in agreement, willing to help but not even sure what exactly he has signed up for.

☂︎

The following afternoon, while Renjun is out, Yangyang hops on the chance to take out his stack of compositions he’d stuffed into the bottom drawer at the beginning of the school year. Most of them are crumpled, with some edges torn. As expected.

These are the compositions he has brought along with him for centuries. When he traveled to Europe, he packed it into his suitcase. Wherever he traveled, he made sure they were within reach from the comforts of the bed or at least in the room. Now, it has traveled to him to the university, where he keeps it safe in his dorm. Well, as safe as it can be. His dorm could be searched through at any time, but he wants to think it’s better than leaving it with Ten or Xuxi, who might accidentally spill juice or coffee onto the papers, which he doesn’t want to see happen. While they understand how much they mean to him, he thinks they might put it in places that are too accessible, hence the probable spills.

But where Yangyang is at doesn’t allow for him to check that the compositions are safe on a daily basis. Half the times he’s in the dorm is when he’s asleep. Even when he is awake, Renjun is with him most of the time. Today, Renjun is running errands, giving him time to look through them once again.

Yangyang places the stack on his desk, palms pressing down against it to smooth out the sheets. It isn’t the most efficient, but it’s the best he can do for now. He sighs, then splits it into three stacks, and places them in one row across his desk. He reaches above and grabs three textbooks from the shelf, then drops them onto the respective stacks. Once he’s adjusted the textbook alignments, he leaves the desk and flops back onto his bed.

Yangyang stares at the papers on his desk, then blinks. He takes himself out of bed and lifts the middle stack, taking one sheet from the bottom of the pile. It crinkles once again, but he doesn’t care anymore. As soon as the back of his head hits the pillow, he holds it straight up, directly above his head. He brings it closer and squints, then flicks his fingers at a tiny speck in the top left corner.

It’s still there. Yangyang grumbles and sits up, this time back up against the wall. He could take it out, but in doing so, he would be taking out the traces of time and care. It’s worn down, and he does fix it up once in a while, but a tiny speck shouldn’t be a bother for now. Hopefully.

Yangyang turns his head to the sound of the lock clicking and watches the door swing open, revealing a Renjun who looks like he’d just run across the campus because he was being chased by a tiger. He probably was, minus the tiger part.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit worn out,” Renjun says, clearly running out of air. “Not a big deal.”

“At least you’re safe.”

Renjun laughs. “At least. Hey, what’s that in your hand?”

Yangyang looks down at what’s in his hand, then shoves the paper behind him. “Bad test score,” he spits out.

“What class?” Renjun pads over to him, kneeling at the foot of the bed.

“Um.” What class could he possibly fail? “Korean.”

“Korean?” Renjun sputters. “You’re kidding, right?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “I was distracted that day.”

“Do you need tutoring? I could help.” Renjun inches forward.

Yangyang wants to back up, but there’s nowhere to go when his back is already pressed against the wall. “I’m fine, really. It was just a silly mistake.”

“Alright.” Renjun backs away and returns to his side of the room.

Yangyang lets out a sigh of relief, then throws his sheet of composition under his pillow. Immediately, he ducks into his covers, head secured on the pillow and hands holding onto the composition underneath like his life depends on it. He’ll think about what to do when he’s awaken from his nap, and hopefully by then, Renjun has left.

☂︎

Getting into an argument with Doyoung following his session of secrets spilling is not what Yangyang had in mind. And yet, he sits across his own professor at the kitchen island, getting into a heated debate over Renjun.

“I’m telling you, you’re a coward!” Kun glares at Doyoung and clamps one hand over his mouth. Doyoung whines for a few seconds, then puts his hands up in a coward.

“I just messed up once! It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Doyoung huffs. “It’s not good to lie.”

“I’m protecting myself!” Yangyang argues back. “Why don’t you try thinking about how I feel?”

“Been there, done that,” Doyoung mutters. Yangyang stares at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Doyoung stares back. “What? I’ve also done stupid things in my lifetime.”

Yangyang grumbles, wants to continue arguing, only to be calmed down by Ten who’s running a hand up and down his back. “Go back to your own room, alright? I’ll bring you some food later.”

“Fine,” Yangyang mumbles. He slips off the seat and drags himself into his room, Doyoung’s words echoing his mind.

 _“You’re a coward.”_ Maybe Doyoung is right. He came here at first, hopeful of his grand plan, excited to turn the tides. Now, all he does is follow Renjun around the campus like a lost puppy, and when he isn’t, he’s usually moping by himself, with his family showering him with words of reassurance.

The efforts are futile. More than ever before, Yangyang starts to doubt his entire purpose, why he even continues existing. He wants to think of a solution, but his mind draws a blank. Whether he likes it or not, he has to finish the semester here and go through with the plan he was so excited about at the beginning of the year, unless he gets whisked away before any of that happens. He hopes it doesn’t happen. If he can’t get anything out of this, the least he could do is spend a little more time with Renjun.

Renjun is a lot of things. He’s smart, he has friends, and he has a good reputation. He goes out of his way to achieve what he wants, but at the same time, he cares little about what other people think of him. Yangyang respects him. Sometimes, he thinks he too does things without caring about other opinions. At least, until his name was heard less and less, sometimes even written wrong on signs, and “Yangyang” was nothing more than a forgotten name. Even the guards in front of the Jade Emperor’s palace don’t know his name anymore. He’s started caring more about what people’s opinions, about his reputation.

Maybe that’s why his music now reeks of dread and sorrow. Back then, he was the most festive god out of everyone. He led the performances in the ceremonial hall, cheering with cups of wine and celebrations seeped into the night. Not that there was a need for the concept of time up there.

The bed Yangyang lands on is soft. It reminds him of the one he uses back home, the one he brought into the Qian residence one day and decided it would replace the wooden day bed. Kun just blinked and shook his head as his gaze returned to the floor, footsteps carrying him farther and farther from his own student. Yangyang was grateful that day. After the bed replacement, he became less stressed and slept better. He didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to touch the _guqin_ for a few minutes before returning to sleep.

Yangyang hears shouts coming from the kitchen, a blend of three voices echoing down the hallway. Although he can’t hear what they’re saying, he guesses it’s related to himself. He hopes it isn’t, though. As much as he likes attention, this is unwarranted, and frankly terrible. He can’t imagine the conversation going smoothly, especially after Doyoung called him a coward.

No. Yangyang refuses to let someone younger than him boss him around. He gets up and yanks the door open, footsteps heavy as he strides his way into the kitchen. When his fingers are suddenly pointed at Doyoung, Kun rushes to his side at once and tells him to put it down.

Yangyang ignores him, eyes still on Doyoung. “You can’t call me a coward.” His hands have found their way onto his hips now, and he stands there with a glare, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he awaits a response. Doyoung opens his mouth to speak but shuts it when Yangyang continues. “I’m technically older than you. Stop telling me what to do,” he fumes. Ten, who is by Doyoung’s side, looks at him in horror, and it’s only then he realizes he shouldn’t have said.

It’s Doyoung’s turn to laugh. “Well, you actually stopped aging at 24, so no, you aren’t older than me since I’m in my 30s.”

Yangyang turns to Kun, who only shoots an apologetic smile before running back toward the stove. Doyoung just shrugs and goes back to scribbling something on a piece of paper while Ten doesn’t even make eye contact with him, just slips down the hallway and into his bedroom. He groans and turns to the wall, pressing his entire body against the surface, wishing it could suck him whole as he sighs in defeat.

☂︎

The first thing Yangyang hears from Dejun a few days later is, “Cool.” Yangyang gives him a questioning look, to which Dejun sighs and continues. “I meant, I think the composition is cool.”

“What do you mean it’s cool?”

“It’s good. It’s different,” Dejun notes.

Yangyang leans forward. “But…?”

Dejun purses his lips together. “But it’s missing something. I don’t know what it is, but it sounds different from usual.”

“I can’t help it,” Yangyang whines. “Thsi would be so much easier if Renjun wasn’t up Yangyang’s ass- Not _me_. He only knows me as Yangyang, th ecollege student. I meant Yangyang the god.”

Dejun snickers. “I know what you mean.” He gives Yangyang a pat on the back. “At least he knows you exist.”

“But I can’t even tell him anything,” he squeaks. “It’s useless.”

“Just grant him a wish when you go back home or something, and he’ll probably be very happy.”

“I”m not doing that,” Yangyang snaps. “He just looks up to me, I mean, the quality of my compositions. He doesn’t believe in praying for good things.”

“So you like him even more.” Dejun smirks. “Since you’re all about that hard work and not depending on gods to bring people good fortune.”

Yangyang elbows Dejun in the stomach playfully, then returns to his work.

“Just be careful. If you slip up, it’s over,” Dejun warns.

He hums in response, head already in the clouds. Maybe he’ll tell Renjun his true identity right before he leaves. This way, he doesn’t have to deal with being quarantined by the palace guards because he will be doing it himself as soon as he parts with the school and, most importantly, Renjun.

The rest of the meeting is quiet. Renjun does not show up, and Dejun sticks to his side the entire time, occasionally making side commentary as Yangyang works. He thinks he has made a mistake of sharing earbuds with Dejun, but is nonetheless thankful for his criticism as he works.

Even back home, Yangyang has never let anyone near him while he works. The occasional exception is Kun, who only intrudes to deliver food because he is worried Yangyang doesn’t eat when he’s working. It’s partially true, and Kun really is the lifesaver who brings his mind back to the present with the freshly made food.

Dejun’s jabs are helpful. He fixes chord progressions as he works, then goes back to listen. His focus is only on a few bars at a time, and although it strays from his habits, it is a nice change that keeps him productive.

“Yangyang.” He looks up from his laptop screen to see a concerned look on Dejun’s face. “Did you bring your compositions?”

He nods. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just- I’m just worried, okay? I don’t want to stop you from doing anything, but I just hope you’re safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m fine,” Yangyang sighs, exasperated. “They’re in a locked drawer in the dorm.”

Dejun sighs. “Be careful. Please,” he adds.

“Got it.” He returns to typing, then stops mid sentence to think. An idea comes to mind. “What about I put it in a box and you keep the box in your house?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“I have a better suggestion.”

Yangyang squints at the clock on the screen, then slams the laptop lid down. “Tell me, tell me,” he urges, head inching toward Dejun. “I wanna know.”

Dejun gulps and strains his neck away from Yangyang’s.. “You can keep it in your room at Kun’s.”

“Oh. That’s actually not a bad idea.” Yangyang straightens up. He places his laptop into his bag and swings it over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go home and do that.”

Yangyang ends up not doing it. When he walks into the dorm and takes out the box of compositions, most of them crinkled or slightly torn around the edges, an hour is spent just tracing his fingertips across the uneven paper, mind traveling as he reminisces of the past. By the time he snaps out of it, the sky is already dark, and he doesn’t want to travel across campus to put his precious items into the hands of people who can’t keep watch of it constantly. In the end, he locks them back into the bottom drawer and tries to wipe his worries away.

☂︎

Another lunch with Chenle, and this time with the rest of the lunch squad, sets Yangyang’s brain on fire. As soon as Renjun starts talking about the play productions, Chenle follows up with a reminder for him to take care of himself and five different disses, accompanied by a cackle every few sentences.

Chenle is about to launch into another series of lectures for Renjun, but Yangyang cuts in, which Renjun thanks with a small smile through chewing his lunch.

“We should go into the city on Saturday.”

“Oh.” Chenle stops clanging his spoon against the tray. “I’m taking Jisung to my house that day.”

“What’s so appealing about your house that Jisung would choose to go there instead of exploring the city?”

“Hey!” Chenle protests. “My house is big! You will never find another one like it in the city,” he huffs.

“Alright, alright.” Yangyang turns to Xuxi. “How about you? Are you busy?”

“I’m hanging out with my boyfriends,” Xuxi replies.

Chenle beats him to the asking. “Since when do you have boyfriends? Come on now, Xuxi, don’t lie.”

Yangyang blinks. Does Xuxi mean Dejun and Guanheng? He shakes his head. Unlikely. Maybe this is an excuse. He finally speaks up. “I’ve met them. They’re really nice.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow at Yangyang, to which he responds with a shrug, then goes back to scraping the food remnants off his plate.

Xuxi probably answered to give Yangyang a little push. Yes, that’s it. Unfortunately, this results in Chenle grilling him with questions and comments about the so-called friendship betrayal, which Yangyang would love to save him from, but he would rather not turn Chenle’s attention back to him, for fear of another round of dissing his favorite NBA player.

Yangyang watches Jisung’s head swivel back and forth, barely catching up to the crossfire conversation happening between Chenle and Xuxi. He shakes his head, eyes later falling on Renjun, who shoots him a knowing look.

Just because the others aren’t available to go into the city doesn’t mean they won’t go. They’ll still go, just with slightly different plans.

“Do you have an itineria planned in that head of yours?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “I’ve just never explored the city before. I have no idea what’s there.”

Renjun hums. “We can go somewhere else. It’s still near the city, but it’ll be a longer walk.”

“Where to?” Yangyang leans forward, excited. “I haven’t been to many places here, so I know nothing.”

“The beach.”

“The beach?” Yangyang echoes in a screech, just loud enough for Chenle to turn and stare at him. He frowns at him. “What? Got something to say?” Chenle rolls his eyes and goes back to yelling at Xuxi.

“Anyways, I was just thinking it’s a nice place. And we’re in a port city! Have you never been to the beach before?”

Now that’s a tough question to answer. He doesn’t think he has because he’s never been near open bodies of water. He has seen them while traveling. Stepping near it? He never had the chance to. He doesn’t think the lakes he’s seen have beaches either, which is a shame because he likes to think they might be cleaner.

“No.” Yangyang stares down at his empty plate. “I haven’t been to many places.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take you there on Saturday, then.”

Yangyang nods eagerly. “That works. I’m looking forward.”

They don’t discuss further. Yangyang hopes it’s because there won’t be much of a plan, but it might actually because Renjun is too amused in the diss battle happening between Chenle and Xuxi, which the latter is losing severely. He laughs out loud with Chenle, then slaps his hand on the table when Xuxi stumbles over his words.

☂︎

Yangyang is typing on his laptop at his desk when Renjun comes to shake his shoulder. Exasperated, he takes his headphones off and lets it hang around his neck, then looks up to see Renjun who is pouting at him.

“Can’t you wait? This is for the play.” From the corner of his eye, he notices one of his composition sheets is still sticking out from under his laptop. It’s only there because he took it out earlier to take a quick look at it, but hasn’t put it back with Renjun walking around the past half hour.

Renjun whines. “No work today. We’re going out for the entire day.”

Yangyang sighs, but obliges and turns his laptop off. “Give me a few minutes so I can change.”

Renjun nods and disappears into the bathroom. In no time, Yangyang has the sheets sliding out from under the laptop, and they rest on top of it. He moves to unlock the bottom drawer but the bathroom door clicks, and Yangyang has to throw a spare piece of paper on top of the pile. Terrible move.

When Renjun reappears, he plops down on his own bed, eyes never leaving Yangyang’s figure as he strips his sweater off and throws on a t-shirt and shorts. His legs swing back and forth as he waits, ankles hitting the side frame.

“I’m done.” Renjun jumps up to links arms with Yangyang, pulling him close so their shoulders are touching. “Really?”

No reply. Yangyang leds Renjun lead the way, from the campus to the bus stop, onto one of the first buses that arrive. Instead of sitting, Renjun pulls Yangyang in the direction of the window, now squished against it by the morning crowd, and he points at everything they pass by. Yangyang is sure Renjun has named every building they have gone past.

Once they’re off the bus, Renjun drags him down an escalator and into a metro station. Yangyang gawks as Renjun inserts a few coins into the machine, and out comes a token. Renjun pushes him toward the entrance and scans the token. The barrier in front of him opens up, and Renjun pushes him across, then follows suit with his own card swipe.

“You really are from the countryside, huh. I haven’t seen anyone so surprised by a metro station.” Renjun smirks at Yangyang as he leans his head against one of the poles.

“No, I just-” Yangyang doesn’t continue. He thinks about the one time he rode a subway in New York City. His nose scrunches as he gets a flashback to the awful stench he was faced with that day.

“Don’t be shy,” Renjun coos. “There’s always a first for everything. And I’m glad to see you’re human, not some god who descended from heavens and can do everything.”

Yangyang huffs. “Technology is just weird. Blame the engineers for making it so complicated.”

Renjun shrugs. “This is how we live now. As long as we don’t become dependent on it, I think it’s fine.”

Yangyang nods in agreement. Not that he needs to ride a subway when he can just appear where he wants with the snap of a finger. But reliance on anything is indeed a terrible habit to develop, he agrees. That’s why Kun and Ten make them rotate through chores, in hopes of maintaining good habits instead of lazying around and abusing their status.

“Off we go now,” Renjun sings. He yanks Yangyang off the car and out of the subway station, this time stepping into a change of scenery.

The first thing Yangyang notices is that they are now surrounded by tall buildings, all gray and bleak. The skies are a light blue today, clouds only thin as whisps of smoke. He doesn’t even have the time to take in the surrounding view before getting pulled forward, eyes now half on the back of Renjun’s head, half on the streets they’re walking onto.

It looks like a road for cars to drive on, but in place of cars, there is a sea of pedestrians. He thinks they would look like scurrying ants if he were to look down at it from up above.

Yangyang has trouble holding back with his wallet, wanting to purchase everything he sees on the spot. If not for Renjun slapping his hand away from his own wallet, he would probably be juggling an assortment of trinkets, worry clouding his mind as he makes sure none of his break instead of focusing on the day Renjun has planned for the two of them.

As they walk further down the street, Renjun stops by a few food stalls, then stuffs half of his purchases straight into Yangyang’s mouth. He giggles when Yangyang tries to talk with his mouth full, then takes a tissue out of his pocket and presses it to the corner of Yangyang’s lips.

“You’re such a messy eater,” Renjun teases. “Hold onto this alright? We still have a few desserts to try.” Yangyang nods, dazed, and stuffs the packet of tissues into his own pocket, footsteps trailing behind Renjun’s as he flocks to the next stall.

The next time Renjun wipes Yangyang’s mouth with a tissue goes much smoother. He only blinks a couple of times before going back to chewing through a bite of _qingtuan_ , grassy green skin deceiving with the red bean paste packed into the middle.. The last time someone fed him was definitely thousands of years ago. He can’t believe he’s mingling with mortals in their territory, even letting one feed him without any objection. He likes it, doesn’t mind it.

There is still much to see on the streets, but Renjun insists they don’t have time as they catch another subway. They navigate the underground routes for an hour, alternating between getting squished in the large crowd on the cars and running down flights of stairs to catch a train for another rapid transit line.

As soon as they exit the station, Renjun flags a taxi, which they spend another hour on. At first, Yangyang has his head against the window, trying to capture each second in his mind and hoping to remember them. Somewhere along the road, Renjun leans on Yangyang’s shoulder. When he looks over, he finds Renjun asleep, lips slightly parted as he snores gently. His right hand comes up to get a gentle hold on Renjun’s head, then turns it to so Renjun can rest better against him.

The position is slightly uncomfortable for Yangyang’s liking, but Renjun looks more comfortable. He is no longer snoring, the worries on his face now written away. He looks at peace. Yangyang smiles at the sight. He doesn’t ask for much, but to see Renjun at peace puts his heart at ease, a feeling he wants to keep forever.

“Renjun,” Yangyang whispers when the taxi comes to a halt. “Wake up.” He tries to keep the rest of his body still as he shakes him lightly with one hand. “We’re here.”

A string of incoherent syllables spill out of Renjun’s mouth, and Yangyang can’t help but chuckle. Renjun finally lifts his head up, still groggy as he looks around. He rubs his eyes, then peers at Yangyang who’s been trying to get out of the car, only to be anchored into his seat by Renjun’s weight. And because he refuses to shake Renjun off, but he tries not to think about that.

“You ready?” Renjun gives a small nod. “Alright.” Yangyang opens the door and exits. He turns around to put a hand right under the hood of the car on the inside and leans forward, hand extended to Renjun, who grabs on right after putting a wad of cash in the taxi driver’s hand.

“Renjun,” Yangyang whispers as they walk in the direction of the beach, hand in hand. “We didn’t bring anything.”

“Shit.” Renjun stops in his tracks, and Yangyang looks behind, trying to pull him along. “Ugh, whatever, we can just walk around. There’s a trail nearby if you don’t want to get too much sand in your shoes.”

“Let’s go then.” He grins at the other, a hum escaping his lips. Renjun buries his face into Yangyang’s arm as they walk, only looking up later on to gape at the sea, then letting go to take pictures. When Renjun grabs ahold of him again, his phone is still in hand, this time with the camera facing Yangyang. The shutter goes off, and Renjun immediately jumps back to Yangyang’s side to show him the picture.

“You’re gonna say this is cheesy, right?” Yangyang just nods, cheeks slowly heating up. “I’ll send it to you,” Renjun continues. “When we’re on the way back.”

A scream is heard and the two whip their heads around for the source of the noise. Another chorus of screeches follow right after. Yangyang finally spots a crowd in the distance, all gathered with their bodies facing the sea. His eyes travel further, almost bulging out at the sight.

“Oh my god!” Renjun squeals and drags Yangyang with him, almost slipping down a small hill or dirt as he inches closer.

“Careful,” Yangyang mutters as he pulls Renjun back, scared he might actually fall down.

On the ocean surface, three waterspouts twirl and dance. Yangyang blinks. He swears he sees a flash of glittering scales, but by the time he tries to squint and look again, they are gone. Next to him, Renjun is jumping up and down, constantly tugging at Yangyang’s side.

“Look! They’re real! They’re real!”

Yangyang pretends he doesn’t understand. “What’s real?”

Renjun frowns and crosses his arms. “Dragons, Yangyang. I’m talking about dragons.”

Kun has prepared him for many obstacles in life, but talking to a mortal about dragons isn’t one of them. “I don’t- I don’t understand,” Yangyang lies through his teeth.

“You have got to be kidding me. This is basic knowledge! A waterspout sighting means a dragon appeared.”

“They can’t be-” Yangyang clenches his fists. “Real,” he finishes, unsure of what he is even saying anymore. “They’re not real,” he says again.

Renjun mutters under his breath again, this time for so long curiosity gets the best of Yangyang he starts listening in, even though he knows he shouldn’t. “ … how could I like someone so stupid? He probably lied about beliving in gods too…” Yangyang freezes, breath held in for who knows how long. There are many things he _has_ lied about to Renjun’s face, but he doesn’t remember a time where he didn’t sound genuine as they talked about gods. Believing in them and what they do, worshipping them, which Renjun admits to not doing because he doesn’t want to rely on praying to get where he wants. It’s valid, he’d decided back then, and should be respected.

Yangyang coughs. “Renjun-”

“Let’s just go home.” The other sounds dejected, disappointed even, by today’s turn of events. Their way back onto the main street for a taxi ride home is silent, the only except being when Renjun kicks rocks on the sidewalk. The way back home is the same, and before Yangyang can even bid goodbye to Renjun, the other is already out of the automobile, figure disappearing into the building.

Yangyang looks back at the taxi driver, who is drumming his fingers on the wheel, waiting for him to pay. He turns to the building with a saddened look, before asking if he can be driven a little further. All he gets is a gruff in reply, then grumbling for directions. Before he leaves the taxi, Yangyang gives many thanks and sneaks an extra bill into the wad of cash he gives. He hopes the driver isn’t too upset about it.

☂︎

“I fucked up,” Yangyang whispers, dazed, as Ten opens the door for him. “Oh my god, I fucked up.” He strides into the living room and settles onto the couch, placing his head on the armrest as he tags a spare blanket over his body. “He hates me.”

Ten immediately arrives at his side and strokes his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Yangyang sits up. “He hates me,” he repeats.

Ten lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think he does, Yangyang. He’s a lovely person, and you’re not the type of person to cross him. Especially when you adore him so much.”

There is no denying Renjun is lovely. Yangyang cannot deny that he adores him and would never go out of his way to upset him, but somehow, he thinks he has.

Kun comes in with a tray of tea and hands a cup to Yangyang. “Drink this first.”

Yangyang takes it, grateful for the amount of care the two are giving him. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he appreciates the sentiment. He gulps, then opens his mouth to speak. No words come out. He tries again, but still, nothing. Ten gently puts a hand over his, circling the cup, and brings it to Yangyang’s lips. He only lets go once Yangyang has taken a couple of sips.

“I lied again,” he cries. “How is he going to forgive me? I encouraged him so much when he talked about how much of an influence his favorite god had on his career choice and his hobbies. I told him I _supported_ him, told him I also believed in the supernatural. But I shot him down when he talked about the water spouts and the dragons. What if- what if-” he sniffles. “What if he never talks to me again?”

“Oh, Yangyang.” Ten takes a seat next to Yangyang and embraces him a hug. Kun sets the tray on the coffee table and kneels down, taking Yangyang’s hands in his and caressing the back of his hands.

Yangyang only sheds a few tears. His heavy breathing is enough to shoot panic through his entire body, and he can only stare ahead as the two continue to comfort him wordlessly.

Kun takes a packet of tissues out of his pocket, and gently presses a new one onto Yangyang’s face. Yangyang puts a hand over Kun’s, holding in choking sobs, as he takes the tissue into his own hand.

The words are caught in his throat. He no longer knows what he should say. He wants to tell himself that what he did is justified, that he did it to protect himself. He doesn’t want to think about how the mythical dragon sighting is a warning, perhaps a missed opportunity.

All Yangyang wants to do right now is go home. Not to the dorm, not into his room in Kun’s rented house. Back in the Qian and Li residence, in his room where the windows give him a view of the lake and waterfall they live by, early mornings drowned in the songs of sparrows and late nights resonating with his _guqin_ playing.

But Yangyang doesn’t want to leave now. He wants to tell Renjun everything, from who he is to what he does, even all the lies he’s ever told him. He tries not to think about how he keeps track of each lie he’s said to Renjun’s face. Except he does, because he wants to prove he did everything for a reason.

There are instances where Yangyang thinks he could go as far as committing a crime, one so absurd that he would be stripped of immortality. Times when he believes holding Renjun in his embrace matters more than gaining the recognition of hundreds of millions of people. Because if there’s anything that brings more joy than being recognized for the efforts made, it would be the one Yangyang cherishes the most appreciating him. He already has that, here and now, sometimes meters away, sometimes already linked with his fingers.

If Yangyang leaves now, he will never be able to come back. Renjun will stay mad at him for the rest of his life, and if he somehow appears in front of him, he will definitely ignore his presence. Yangyang wants to fix things now, before they can get out of hand. Well, things are already pretty much out of hand, but Yangyang wants to think there is still a part of their relationship that can be saved..

“Hey,” Ten starts once Yangyang’s breathing becomes shallower and evens out. “We’re here, okay? You don’t have to go back until you’re ready. If you need time to figure it out, you can do it.”

Yangyang shakes his head. “I don’t want Renjun to wait. I need to apologize to him, even if I don’t tell him who I really am. I’ve been leading him on for so long, I can’t just pretend I never hurt him.”

“You’re hurting yourself right now, Yangyang. We know you don’t want to hurt him, but don’t sacrifice yourself for this. It’s not worth it.”

Yangyang closes his eyes and inhales. “I have to.” He thinks back to Renjun’s words from earlier in the day. “He already thinks I’m a liar. If I keep lying to him, what will he think of me when I leave? I won’t even have a chance to explain myself. And if I don’t go now, I don’t think I will ever have the guts to do it.” He turns to look at Ten, whose face is clouded with concern. “Please, let me,” he says, voice fading and in despair.

Ten frowns. “I hope you know what you’re doing. We’re here to help, but please don’t get into anymore trouble.

“I can’t guarantee that.” Yangyang chuckles darkly.

“Yangyang.”

“Fine. I’ll try,” he sighs.

☂︎

The first thing Yangyang sees when he opens the door to the dorm is a stack of papers flying at him, hitting him in the face before falling to the ground. A series of shouts follows, but he’s too busy processing what is happening to hear what the words actually are.

“Get out! I don’t want to see you!” Renjun tries to slam the door, but Yangyang quickly slips in, immediately traveling to the opposite side of the room, where his bed is.

Renjun strides over, fisting the collar of Yangyang’s shirt with both hands. “What are you still hiding?”

Yangyang closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. “I”m sorry,” is all he utter out at the moment.

“Are you really?” Renjun is fuming. Yangyang hears it in his voice, the way it wavers, amplifies and bounces off the walls of their shared room.

“I am,” he whispers, eyes slowly opening. Renjun loosens his grip but stays in place. “I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t.”

“You can,” Renjun growls. “Stop building your life on a series of lies.”

“I really can’t,” he protests. “This is not as easy as you think it is.”

“Fine.” Renjun lets go, even smoothing out the parts he had grabbed so tightly onto. “Start with why you lied about not knowing God Yangyang.”

“I- What are you saying?” Yangyang stutters and falls onto his bed. He had not expected this. He was thinking Renjun would yell at him about the waterspout issue from this afternoon, not an interrogation on knowing the identity of God Yangyang — himself, basically.

“You know how much of a fan I am. Was it that hard to admit you’re a fan too? That you believe in his existence?” Renjun snatches one of the sheets of paper off the floor and shoves it in Yangyang’s face. “I would recognize this anywhere. This is his composition, and I haven’t been able to find this elsewhere. So, how did you get this?”

Yangyang coughs. “I’m not a fan.” Renjun raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m really not, you’ve got this all wrong.”

“Can you think of a better explanation? That you’re the god himself?”

Yangyang’s eyes widen. “I-” He doesn’t know what else to say. If he says it outright, he will be whisked away tomorrow, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up with his pile of lies. He has no idea how to vague around the topic, and Renjun’s suspicions would only grow as they continued on into the school year.

Renjun scoffs. “You better give me a good one, or I’m not letting you sleep here tonight.” He seats himself next to Yangyang, intertwining their fingers together. “I’m angry at you, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I hope me holding your hands makes you comfortable,” he adds. “Please tell me if you want to stop.”

Yangyang shakes his head. “No, this is fine. I like it.” He does, he really likes it. Holding hands with Renjun makes him feel warm inside, creates a bubbly feeling inside his chest. “Just give me a moment.”

Yangyang tries to imagine the breathing exercises he has done back at home. He attempts to conjure the GIFs he has randomly come across during his free time scouring the internet. His brain works like a selection menu, pausing on one option, scrolling to the next and the next, then flipping back and forth between another two options. He takes a deep breath in, imagines in his head the polygonal breathing exercise GIF he’d randomly come across online, breathes out as the image inside his head returns to a triangle, then a completely flat line.

“Okay, I think I’m ready.” Yangyang thumbs over the back of Renjun’s hand as he thinks about where he should start from. “Well,” he gulps, “I definitely know of God Yangyang.” He cringes a little on the inside, finding it weird to refer to himself like that in a setting where he is making a mere reference and not a longwinding introduction that accompanies his extravagant entrance. Not that he’s had one in at least a millenium, but he likes to think about it. “I know he composes festive music, and he was well-known and celebrated by many people back in the day. Very long ago,” he adds. “Sorry, I don’t know what else to say,” he mutters.

It feels weird. Renjun doesn’t respond, and Yangyang can see from the corner of his eye he is still staring straight ahead at the wall, not at him, the one speaking. It is suffocating. He is so close to spilling everything right then and there, but there are boundaries he cannot cross. He has already broken so many laws established by the Heavens, and is only still alive, still at school and in the same dorm with Renjun, because he has an excused break, backed up by both Kun and Ten who are highly respected in the courts.

“I can’t- I can’t do this.” Not only is the silence making it harder for him to keep it in, the way his head is spinning makes him want to cry. His eyes water, a single teardrop threatening to trail down his cheeks. It doesn’t. Renjun is still silent. He doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or not. Maybe he prefers the silence, so he can continue talking without any new questions arising. Maybe he doesn’t because he has no clue about how Renjun feels. Sometimes, he thinks he understands him like the back of his hand. Other times, he feels lost, extremely distant from Renjun, light years away from where he is, even when, physically, they are touching, chest to chest, lips pressed against one another.

Yangyang turns around to face Renjun, who indeed still has his sight on the wall. Renjun doesn’t budge, so he cups his face and turns his head so they are facing each other. Renjun looks shaken, only relaxing a few seconds in. “Are you sure you really want to hear this?” Renjun nods. “Even if I have to disappear from your life forever?” The tears finally fall, the taste of salt traveling to the edge of his lips.

“Are you-”

“I’m serious, Renjun,” he says, broken between the short breaths he’s taking and the continuous flow of tears. “Do you really want to hear it?” He leaves out the part about not wanting to leave him, about wanting to stay by his side forever.

“Okay.” The answer is cold and cuts through him like a knife. “I wanna hear it.”

So Yangyang obliges. He tries to hold in the sobs as he speaks, starting from his own identity. His eyes are constantly searching for Renjun’s reaction as he talks, noticing when he slips up, eyes dilating ever so slightly as he exposes himself. He tries to be understanding and imagines that if he were in Renjun’s position, he would feel and react the same way. He has no right to blame him.

Renjun is a patient listener. He nods along as Yangyang talks, although his face is pretty much void of expression, minus the minor incident at the beginning. He rubs his hands against Yangyang’s soothingly, which is calming for the latter. Not a surprise there when Renjun’s touch has always made him relax.

Yangyang doesn’t know how long he talks for. He doesn’t expose Doyoung, but does end up talking about the rest of his so-called family. Renjun mutters something under his breath, but Yangyang never quite catches it. He ignores it and continues, even mentioning his slump. The reason why he is here in front of Renjun in the first place.

Renjun’s gaze softens, which puts a small smile on Yangyang’s face. It’s one of those things he hates talking about, even with the closest people, but it spills out of his mouth so naturally when he’s sitting in front of Renjun, even if deciding to do so at first was nerve-wracking.

Yangyang likes to think it’s because their relationship is essentially built on walking in the gray area. The kisses shared, the embraces that lingered, he considers all of them to be unsaid confessions. Neither of them ever backed off, and had never brought it up in front of others. Rather than shame, they have their own reasons for not trying to tie themselves down with words of affirmation.

When Yangyang finishes, Renjun is looking at him with teary eyes. He pulls on his sleeve and holds it down with a few fingers, then holds it up to wipe the tears that are starting to fall. He doesn’t want to see him cry or be in pain. If it’s anyone that should be like that, he hopes it to be himself only.

Renjun lifts his hand and holds onto Yangyang’s forearm. “Do you really have to leave?’

Yangyang purses his lips. “I’ve already told you everything. Tomorrow, they’ll come to take me. They’ve probably been watching me for months and can’t wait to punish me.”

“But this isn’t fair!”

“It is what it is, Renjun,” he sighs. “Today, I am the sacrificial lamb. Tomorrow, it might be someone else.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Renjun pushes him back onto the bed and pounces on him, hands and shoulders on both sides of Yangyang. He lowers his body, small frame fitting on top of Yangyang’s larger one. His nose dips into his crook of his neck, where he rests still. Yangyang isn’t buff, not even tall, in any shape or form, but somehow, with Renjun, he is suddenly bigger, engulfing Renjun’s whole in his embrace.

Yangyang moves a hand up to Renjun’s head and caresses his locks gently, enjoying how they run so smoothly right through his fingers, other hand traveling to the small of his back to press Renjun’s body against his own, eliciting a whine out of him.

There isn’t much to do. They stay still, unmoving, and Yangyang counts so many seconds he is sure it’s been an hour. By the time he wants to lift himself up and move, Renjun is already fast asleep in his arms, chest pressing against his as he breathes.

☂︎

The next morning comes around just as Yangyang expects. When he shuffles across the room to open the door, he is faced with two men, at least ten centimeters taller than him. They hold up a warrant carved into a long, sharpened piece of jade for a moment, then pull him out of the room.

“Wait, what the hell, give him back!” Renjun arrives at the entrance, trying to push one of the two men. He doesn’t budge. Renjun reaches further to tug at Yangyang’s shirt. “Why are you just letting them do this to you? Can’t you show any resistance? This isn’t the Yangyang I know!”

Yangyang faces him with a weak smile. “I’d rather go home walking freely than be chained up and carried away. I’m sorry, Renjun.” His head hangs down, ashamed of how pathetic he must look in front of the love of his-

Oh. So that’s what it is. Renjun is the love of his life. For a second, he is thankful for looking so pitiful in front of Renjun. This way, he can’t see the dawning realization that comes to Yangyang at the wrong time. Perhaps this is for the better because he would be even more screwed if he had found out earlier. Here and now, he cannot do anything, only wait for the verdict sent from the Heavens. He accepts his fate. For now, at least.

Yangyang allows the two men to escort him out, and on the way out, they pass another men in similar clothing. No one else is in the hallway, and even if they were, they would not be able to see them. Only Yangyang, a seemingly dejected college student in his fourth year, maybe struggling from a series of criticisms from the harshest of professors.

Even though they are already many doors down the hall, Yangyang still hears the faint screams coming from his now former dorm room. He assumes it’s Renjun who is fighting the man packing up his belongings. A small smile lingers on his lips as they exit. At least one of them is still fighting in the place of the one who cannot.

☂︎

Yangyang expects the men to take him back up to the Heavens and make him kneel in front of a panel. However, they lead him down a familiar path, one that he walks so often he could navigate his way through with his eyes closed. He frowns when they drop him off in front of Kun’s and Ten’s. When he turns around, one of them is already opening his mouth to speak.

“We can’t take you up because the Jade Emperor is currently extremely busy. He will deal with you once his schedule is on the lighter side.” He gives a curt nod, which Yangyang returns one of the same manner.

The other just scoffs. “He means you’re so irrelevant that you’re not invited back. I mean,” he says, looking Yangyang up and down, “you don’t look like much anyways. The courts just don’t want to deal with someone like you.” _Someone like you_. Yangyang has somewhat built resistance to words like these since hanging out with Renjun more and more, but it still stings. He doesn’t give a reply, just a glare, piercing lasers into their backs until they are out of his sight.

Yangyang stuffs a hand into his right pocket hastily and pulls out the spare key Kun had given him, and unlocks the door. No one is inside, which is to be expected. Kun and Ten both have a staff meeting to attend to, so they are already out. He slips off his shoes slowly and slides against the hardwood floor, down the hall and into his own bedroom. He shuts the door, then dives under his blankets, covers pulled over his head completely. His breaths are getting heavier with less air to take from, but the warmth is comforting. He wants nothing more than to savor in it, and ends up falling asleep.

Exactly twenty-three minutes later, Yangyang wakes up. He throws the covers off his head, then screams when he sees who is sitting at the edge of the bed, staring straight into his eyes.

“Sicheng ge? What are you doing here?”

The other inches closer and places his hands on top of Yangyang’s once he’s properly sat up, back against the cushioned headboard. “Kun got a notice but he was in a meeting, so he sent me a message. And as you know, I am pretty much free on weekdays, especially mornings, because that’s when most people have classes.”

“I thought you would’ve slept in.”

Sicheng chuckles. “I did. It’s not that early, you know.”

“Right,” Yangyang sighs. “I thought they were going to come and take me at five in the morning.”

“They wouldn’t. That would be a disturbance to your roommate and the entire building.”

“Ugh, you’re right.”

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “I went to sleep late, and definitely slept more than usual. I woke up just as they knocked on my door. It was already ten by then.”

The other removes his hand from Yangyang’s and puts the back of it against Yangyang’s forehead. “At least you don’t have a fever. Come on, I’ll make you brunch.”

Sicheng leaves the room first. Yangyang only comes out twenty minutes left, and when he steps into the kitchen, he hears the oil sizzling on the pan, the exhaust fan whirring loudly. His eyes travel to the dining table, where four bowls are set up.

“They’ll be back later!” Sicheng shouts over the running exhaust fan. “You can sit down first. Don’t touch anything, please.”

Yangyang grumbles but obeys anyways. Even though he _can_ cook, he isn’t great. Worst is, he is never allowed to touch other people’s cooking because he always manages to ruin them. No one has figured it out yet, but he does. _Always_.

As Yangyang slips into the seat besides the wall, the door clicks open. “Ge!” Kun and Ten appear, side by side, both hugging a bundle of papers. They give Yangyang a small wave, drop the papers onto the coffee table, then disappear into their shared room. By the time they come out, both are dressed in more casual clothes, a t-shirt and sweats.

Kun is the first to sit down at the dining table, which Yangyang is surprised. Usually, he enters the kitchens to help out right away. “Don’t worry,” Kun says, as if he’s read his mind. “Ten can handle it with Sicheng. I’m here to tell you everything you need to know for the six weeks.”

Six weeks. That’s a long time. Yangyang tries to not think about how the Dragon Boat Festival play production is in six weeks.

Kun frowns at him. Yangyang retreats into his seat, just slightly, as he indicates for him to continue with a nod. “Essentially, you won’t be allowed to leave this house for the next six weeks. If you really want to go out, your registered family members can accompany you out. At least two must be present with you at all times if you are to step out of the house, and no, you cannot take two from the batch of your _shiges_. One of them must be me, Ten, or Sicheng.”

“Oh. Doyoung isn’t registered,” he comments absentmindedly.

“And he won’t be,” Kun says firmly. “He’s staying here.” Yangyang frowns. He’s grown to like Doyoung.

Sicheng saves the day with his appearance, two plates balancing on both of his arms. Kun takes two and sets them on the table, with the other two sliding off of Sicheng’s arms and into place. Ten comes out of the kitchen seconds later, placing a pot of egg drop soup in the center.

“Rice?” Kun asks. “Chopsticks?”

“Ah shit.”

“Never mind, just sit down.” Kun gestures to the two empty seats. “No one’s watching anyways, just summon it.”

Ten jumps into his seat right away, with Sicheng following shortly after. Yangyang stares at his bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks suddenly drop onto his bowl, neatly placed in a diagonal.

“That was fast.” Yangyang gulps, not having expected Sicheng’s work to be so silent and smooth.

“Of course. Now eat up. It’s not every day you get to eat food made by your favorite adult.”

“Wrong. I’m my own favorite adult,” Yangyang retaliates as he digs in. “But you come a close second,” he adds, after having swallowed his first two bites.

“Hey now, you live in my house!” Kun protests.

Ten butts in, not having it. “Yangyang, I was your first teacher!”

He groans. “No, please not this argument again. We’ve had this so many-” He blinks to find Kun and Ten arguing again. Yangyang doesn’t remember when it started, but he does know he’s heard them enough to be tired of it. Next to him, Sicheng just shoots him a smile and puts a bunch of vegetables and meat into his bowl. Maybe he really can endure the arguing as long as he’s being fed well.

☂︎

Given the option to go out, it’s a surprise Yangyang doesn’t at all. He doesn’t ask anyone around to accompany him, just shuts himself in his room. He eats his meals with Kun and Ten whenever they are available, and the rest when they come and visit. His meals alone are a disaster. His attempts to cook in the kitchen are mediocre at best, and he ends up resorting to instant noodles stocked in his room, much to Kun’s distaste. Ten just tells him to have fun, since he’s at the point where what he eats won’t really affect his body. He nods happily at Ten’s words, indulging himself in the constant routine of consuming one of the unhealthiest foods for humans of all time. Barely any protein and just chopped up vegetables, just loads and loads of starch and oil.

Besides eating and sleeping, Yangyang only focuses puts his mind on one other thing: composing. He can no longer contribute to the play production, but inspiration strikes him when he needs it last, spurring an unhealthy rhythm into his daily routine. He admits he’s staring at his computer screen for way too long, but how can he help it when composing with a digital device is faster than writing each measure and staff out by hand.

Kun yells at him to get more natural light and fresh air, even making him keep the windows open during the day. He even throws a newspaper onto his desk every morning in hopes that Yangyang can spend more time with his eyes on paper and not on the computer screen. (Yangyang doesn’t actually read them, just stares at the headline and skims through two random paragraphs to ready him for his obligated newspaper discussion session with Kun every day. Kun never catches on, or if he did, he hasn’t said anything.)

Two weeks in, Yangyang gets a surprise visit from Doyoung. His former professor claims to have brought a gift. Yangyang doesn’t believe it until Doyoung actually drops a huge box onto the kitchen island, one painted in crimson red and tied up with thin, fabric ribbons. He looks between Doyoung and the box, teetering between asking for permission and just snatching the box to unknot the ribbons.

Doyoung beats him to it and pushes the box toward him. “Open it. I think you’ll like it.”

Yangyang gets to work right away, marveling at the sight when he finally lifts the top layer to see rows and rows of _qingtuans_ , something he had fallen in love with all over again as Renjun fed him on the streets of the city that day. His mouth waters, and he drops the USB drive he’d been holding in his hand onto the counter. He scurries to the dish rack and grabs a small plate and a pair of chopsticks, picking a piece right from the center of the box.

“This is so good,” Yangyang praises in between chews. “Where did you get these?”

“I had to run some errands in the city today,” Doyoung replies. “I heard you like these, so I brought them for you to maybe cheer you up.

“Thank you, really. Wait how did you get in?”

Doyoung snorts. “Have you ever considered the fact that I’m immortal and that’s why your mentors haven’t been slaughtered for hosting me in their house all the time?”

Yangyang’s mouth hangs wide open, not having expected the answer. Or maybe he was just too stupid and distracted by Renjun to figure it out. “Oh. I mean, cool. Yeah, neat.” He realizes he’s stumbling on his words again, a jumble of incoherent combinations threatening to continue coming out of his mouth. “Thank you again.” He shuts his mouth tight, preventing himself from slipping any further.

“Don’t sweat it.” Doyoung glances at his watch, ignoring the way Yangyang is still staring at him in awe, and starts walking out of the kitchen. “I have another meeting later, so I’ll be leaving now.” He leaves, and once again, Yangyang is left alone in the house.

Yangyang covers the box, hugging it as he walks back to his room. He dusts the corner of his desk then places the box there, a bright and fiery red shining against the the plain surface of his desk. His head falls to his desk with a soft _thud_ , but Yangyang’s mind is already halfway seeped into dreamland. He reaches to hold the ribbons in his fingers, relishing in its soft texture against his fingertips.

The few minutes of admiring the box passes by in a flash, and Yangyang is brought back to the present. His USB drive is still in the kitchen, so he gets out of his seat to retrieve it.

The kitchen island is empty. Yangyang even runs his hands along it to feel for any rough surfaces, but he only feels the smooth marble. The rest of the kitchen is completely empty, and the floors are squeaky clean. He panics, even checks the trash can, but it is completely empty, only a plastic bag covering the bin.

Yangyang groans. All his new compositions had just been transferred into the USB drive. There are still copies on the computer itself, but he worries someone might snatch up the USB drive. Those are his personal works, which he plans to never share. His feelings are all written into the pieces, and although people might not understand, he is just not ready to share that part with anyone yet. Except for Renjun, but there is no way he can get these files to Renjun. In addition to being locked inside the house physically, he is cut off from any non-physical interaction with people who aren’t immortals. Even if he wanted to send a folder of music to Renjun, he wouldn’t be able to.

Seeing that the USB drive isn’t in a visible place and it’s probably bound to show up sooner or later, whether he remembers to actively search for it or not, Yangyang decides to retreat to his room. There, he spends the rest of his afternoon on new music again until he drags himself out of there once Kun has returned and gotten dinner ready.

☂︎

The end of Yangyang’s quarantine period comes sooner than anticipated. He finds it hard to believe he has really spent six weeks in the house, not stepping out once, besides into the backyard, but mainly because Kun had been keen to make Yangyang surround himself with fresh air. Besides interacting with his family and Doyoung once, he makes no contact with anyone else. It shouldn’t be suffocating because he’s been relying on them only for centuries, but the constraint and regulation keeps him in check yet almost driving him to insanity.

A few days later, Doyoung arrives once again, this time with an offer that sends Yangyang’s mind into haywire. Doyoung holds out a ticket to him. He doesn’t even look at what it is before pushing Doyoung’s hand back, not wanting to see the words written on the stub of paper.

“Come on, Yangyang. You’re free to go anywhere now.”

Yangyang gulps. He _knows_ he can now roam around without supervision. He just doesn’t want to. His biggest fear is running into Renjun. His next biggest fear is running into Renjun and messing up again. “What if I see him again?”

“Then face it,” Doyoung says. “Stop running away from your problems. You can’t do that for the rest of your life.”

Yangyang wants to argue that he can, but Doyoung is right. Constantly running away from his problems is unhealthy. He has to face things head on sometimes, even if he thinks he won’t like the experience. “I don’t know what I should say to him,” he mumbles. “He won’t even recognize me.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” Doyoung reassures. “They said one person remembering you won’t make a difference.”

Yangyang laughs, sound hollow and cold. “Sounds about right. Hierarchy is a scam.”

Doyoung shrugs. “We can’t really do anything about it.”

“Of course. Even as immortals we are slaves to a system. How pathetic,” he scoffs. “Anyways, I think I’ll decline your ticket offer. I would just make him feel worse by appearing in front of him.”

“I think you should go check it out,” Doyoung says, this time slower and in a more gentle manner. “You did contribute to it somewhat. You deserve to see how it turned out, don’t you think?”

“Fine, I’ll keep the ticket with me for now,” he huffs. “But only because you make a good point.”

Doyoung shoots him a knowing smile, then leaves just as quickly as he’d arrived.

That evening, Yangyang takes the proposal to Kun and Ten, who both turn out to more eager than Yangyang expects them to be. They pamper him, taking turns to list only a million reasons on why he should attend the show. By the end of the conversation, Yangyang is sinking into the couch, smiling in pain as Kun and Ten continue talking his ear off.

☂︎

When Yangyang arrives at the amphitheatre with Kun and Ten on either side of him, the sun is already starting to set. The skies are painted in hues of orange and pink, blended with a sky blue that is starting to fade. They mingle in the crowd, waiting to enter the building.

They are checked in, and when they arrive at their seats, Doyoung greets them with a smile, welcoming yet not the widest Yangyang has seen. Yangyang sits at the end of the row, while Kun and Ten file in, opting to talk with Doyoung before settling down.

Half an hour later, the lights shut off, and a spotlight flickers on, shooting straight at the closed curtains. It’s time. Yangyang takes in a deep breath, then lets it out as the play commences.

The narrator drones on as the curtains open, and the setting falls into place. Yangyang yawns, already wanting to leave, when something the narrator says makes him perk up.

 _“God Yangyang, the God of Festive Music, has been celebrated for bringing joy to our nation at a time when we were at our darkest.”_ It’s factually wrong, but the line still makes Yangyang want to tear up.

The strike on the large drum is hard, and the band starts to play.

Yangyang has a hard time processing the plot. He is lost, but at the same time, drowned in reminiscences of his life.

The story follows much of what Yangyang told Renjun. He was celebrated two millenia prior to today, before waging wars and a lack of unity within the larger area were a problem of sorts. Every festival that came by, he surveyed the streets and watched as everyone on the street chanted his name and played his music. Music that he composed, music that he gifted to them. Then, the separation came about. Wars went on for five centuries, until the Qin Dynasty came into power. Celebrations were abolished, festivals perished. Yangyang could not, with his power, bring the festivity back. He could not interfere. And so, he sat back.

Even following the terrorizing reign of Qin Shi Huang, Yangyang could not revive his status as the celebrated god he once was. No matter how he tried, no matter who he approached, no one accepted his music. It was the change of an era.

The change comes faster than Yangyang expects. His revival comes at the turn of the century during the Tang dynasty, which did not actually happen to him, unfortunately. But here, he is once again a celebrated figure, and is the foundation of a flourishing time period, filled with pride and honor that even flows in the veins of today’s people.

The sorrows expressed through the first _guqin_ solo touch Yangyang’s heart, so close to the point that-

That’s when Yangyang realizes. It’s one of the many pieces he’d put into his newest USB drive. How it got there, Yangyang has no clue. He doesn’t know who would give away his music.

Yangang laughs when Dejun arrives on stage, mind now distracted by his best friend and sworn brother. Dejun has taken on the role of an entertainer who is supposed to be doing stunts in the middle of the streets. His character roams the streets until he meets a crowd of spectators already gathered around a juggler. Yangyang laughs along with the audience when Dejun trips over his own feet clumsily, then picks himself up off the floor to break into the circle, ready to dive into a tumbling routine.

Yangyang’s expression keeps switching between one of excitement and one of confusion, the first because people, not just himself or his family, are hearing music he has written, even though he never wrote these with an audience, especially not one like this, in mind, the second because he doesn’t remember giving his USB drive to anyone, not even to Kun for safekeeping.

The cast come together to bow, and the curtains close. The lights are switched back on, and Doyoung is the first to get up. Yangyang is taken by him right away, with Kun and Ten following closely behind. They argue back and forth, but Yangyang is no longer paying attention. His eyes are on the path Doyoung is leading him to: backstage.

Yangyang has been backstage before. His first time there was during the Spring Festival play production, and he had taken a few additional trips there with Renjun when they had team meetings. While he is no stranger to the place, a chill creeps up his spine, even as he walks down the familiar halls.

They halt in a rather secluded corner, where Doyoung turns on his heels to put his hand on Yangyang’s shoulders and look him in the eye, telling him very sternly to stay put. Yangyang nods, both out of fear and curiosity.

Minutes later, Doyoung comes back with a tired Renjun. Yangyang blinks at first, his mouth wide open as his brain tries to process what he is seeing. His arms are frozen at his side, and his fists only unclench when Renjun suddenly throws his arms around his shoulders, head nuzzling into the side of Yangyang’s neck. Soon, he has his arms around Renjun’s waist. It feels warm. Safe.

☂︎

A year goes by.

Yangyang goes back home, this time being put on real quarantine for coming into contact with a human again, and consequentially taking on the punishment that came with human interference. They gave him a separate space, away from his family, and there are guards stationed outside his gates. Still, it is a bigger space than back home, and he starts spending more and more time in the garden. He plays the _guqin_ into the night, eyes closed as he feels the strings vibrate against his fingertips.

Two months are spent in the secluded residence, and he is let go. Before he packs up, he writes to the palace, asking if he can keep the place. They respond by showing up at the door, kicking him out of the house for a few hours, and remodeling the place so he can move in for real this time. He winces at the changes upon entering, but doesn’t mind the extra paintings and instrumental repair materials that come along with the remodeling process.

Yangyang has to admit that having his own place feels nice. It may be empty, but he now works more than he socializes; the quiet grants him many more productive hours than he could ever imagine. All of them visit from time to time, with Dejun being the most frequent guest, followed by Kun and Sicheng.

Dejun is his Go partner. They bicker for hours, but at least now they can do it without disturbing anyone in the middle of the night. Kun brings him food and checks in on him, making sure he is adjusting well to the place. As for Sicheng, Yangyang is convinced he is only there to admire the garden because he was granted a nice garden upon requesting for a larger variety of plants from the palace.

As for Renjun, he gets scouted by a production company and is offered to compose a soundtrack for an upcoming film. It ends up becoming a box office hit, and Renjun is able to get his name onto headlines, whether it be in newspapers, magazines, or on Weibo. He is technically still an intern, but his name holds more weight than any other intern out there in the nation.

Yangyang only knows of all of this because they message each other often. When Yangyang first texted Renjun, he was spammed by a series of texts.

huang renjun: you can text ????

huang renjun: how does wifi work

huang renjun: omg are you hacking the system

liu yangyang: i’m a god, i can make wifi work anymore i want it to

huang renjun: 666

huang renjun: when am i seeing you again

liu yangyang: when you take a break

huang renjun: …

huang renjun: i’m not falling for it

liu yangyang: i think you are

huang renjun: i hate you for this, i hope you know that

Renjun ends up taking a break, as Yangyang had encouraged him to throughout the year. They meet on a summer day, sky filled with stratus clouds and a gentle breeze that blows throughout the city. Although Renjun now works in a skyscraper building on the newer side of the city center, he tells Yangyang he wants to meet up with him by the river on the other side.

This time, Yangyang is staring at the other side of the river, looking at all the buildings, trying to guess which one Renjun works in. Just as he comes to mind, he appears in front of him, in the flesh. Renjun’s feet are on the railing in seconds, and he screams for a long five seconds.

“Stressed?”

Renjun turns back to Yangyang, a wide smile on his face. “Just a bit. But it’s good nonetheless.”

Yangyang takes Renjun’s hand in his, other elbow propped up on the railing. “I wish I could take you home.”

Renjun frowns. “That’s illegal.”

“And I’ve broken rules time and time again. I’ll do it another time because I have nothing to lose.”

“But I have more work.”

It’s now Yangyang’s turn to frown. “I thought we were only meeting up because you finished your work.”

“Just a little bit more.” Renjun pouts, eyes now locked with Yangyang’s.

“Fine. I’ll wait a bit more.” He gives one last smile, before turning back to the river, watching the ferries travel down, small waves lapping against the cement blocks.

It’s a good view, even better with Renjun at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/keylimefloat) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/keylimefloat)
> 
> come talk to me, yell at me, get to know me, whichever you'd like :D


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